“Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won,” Liam muttered. He wondered what Lord Wellington would think of his first foray into the field of gunpowder warfare.
A rasping, wilting voice came from the cot beside him. “Nice... saying.”
Laurentinus had taken two javelins to the back. His spine had been clipped, his lung punctured, and if they had been in Babylon, he would have been hale and hearty again within the week. Less, depending on the skill of the healer. But the ships of the Cross Guard were still a few days from the port, and their healers were stressed to the limits.
The casualties hadn’t been as bad as Liam had feared. In the first few moments after the flank attack, he had been utterly sure he had lost at least half of his forces. But after the ships had started to row and sail away from Olimurias and the threat of another raking attack from the air had faded, people had been counted, bodies had been shrouded, and the total number had been less than a fifth.
That number hadn’t climbed, but if they didn’t reach Babylon soon, it would skyrocket.
Liam felt his stomach knot. How could he have been so stupid? Brax had already shown the ability to co-opt others into his banner. He’d proved that with the Aesir. And if the valkyrie tribes were as haughty and bigoted as Meg had implied, then would it really have been that hard to convince some that humans and elves and goblins were slightly worse than the lizardfolk?
But the question he didn’t have an answer to was, which tribe had turned on them?
Was Meg, even now, trying to argue the tribe near Babylon to turning wing to the Cross Guard’s banner?
Was she rotting in some jungle?
Another person he’d failed.
Liam rubbed his temple. For the moment, he’d have gladly sacrificed his faith and several of his surviving troops for the certainty of a video game. In a video game, the camera was located far away from the action. The fog of war existed, but it was smoothly pushed back by clever use of your resources. Enemies were turned into numbers. Possibilities were dropped into a manageable number of paths. They go high, you go low. They build defenses, you build offense.
It had as much to do with reality as the idea of running a city had to do with one.
Course, I managed to screw that one up too, he thought. I’m sure Babylon’s already descended into chaos.
“Liam,” Laurentinus voice dragged him from his thinking. He looked down at the goblin. Laurentinus looked as if someone had managed to drain all the green from him, leaving his face ashen gray. Only his size and his ears differentiated him from any other human suffering from a serious injury. His hand grabbed onto Liam’s wrist – despite the weakness brought from fever and blood loss, he remained remarkably strong. “Never. Let them. Think it.”
Liam sighed.
“Never,” Laurentinus hissed. “Troops can take a defeat. Not defeated.”
Then his eyes fluttered shut. Liam remained at his side for a few minutes, watching him breathe. He slowly parsed the words and understood. He straightened, drew up his shoulders, and started for the cabin door that led to the deck. He stepped out to look at the soldiers that were keeping watch. The sun was dark, and Olimurias sat between sky and ground. He could literally see the circular top of Brigid’s citadel.
A year and change on Purgatory had cured Liam of the crushing vertigo that normally came from looking up and seeing nothing but more ground.
“Sir,” one of the sergeants said. “The lookouts haven’t seen any valks flying this way. I think we’re cl-”
Crunch!
The entire ship rocked to the left. Guards flailed their arms and several had to grab onto the railings to keep from pitching over. Liam looked around, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the yelling and shouting from the guards. He could have sworn that one of them just said...
“We’ve been rammed by a fucking shark!”
Liam sprinted to the side of the ship.
Sharks in Purgatory weren’t exactly the same as sharks on Earth, but they were close enough that, when seen at a distance, they looked the same. This one, though, filled the water with red. It trashed and then swam off. Liam’s brow furrowed as one of the sergeants held up a mage-light. They had been expensive to make, but the merest idea of bringing torches aboard a ship filled with gunpowder had made the expense worth it.
The light turned the ocean waters into a mirror.
Then the mirror shattered as a glowing hand reached from the water, grabbed onto the planks of the ship. The wood crumpled under their strength. A moment later, a bow taller than Liam flew from the water and landed on the deck behind him – nearly braining several of his guardsmen. Then a dripping, bedraggled and utterly furious looking woman dragged herself onto the boat, hand over hand. Her bare feet slapped onto the deck and she stood there, panting, her eyes wild.
“So,” Artemis snarled. “I hear you’re in the lizard killing business. I’m in.”
Liam blinked.
Artemis reached down and undid a rope that wrapped around her hips. She untied it, tossed it to a flabbergasted guard, and then stalked past Liam. “Drag the flotsam on board.”
The guard leaped to it as Liam looked from Artemis to the rope. A few moments of dragging and hauling brought the thing the rope was tied to into the light of the boat: a plank of wood from one of the destroyed Aesir ships, bearing an extremely bedraggled looking Neb Mataare. The Chosen of Anubis – who Liam hadn’t seen for nearly a year – looked tired half unto death, her left arm lashed to her chest by a crude collection of soggy cloth. Her fur was soaked through and she was clutching to the plank with her free arm.
The crew got to work bringing her aboard. Liam turned to face Artemis, who was starting to restring her bow. If it had been damaged by a few days dunked in salt water, it didn’t show it. Artemis looked like she had been wounded a few dozen times and healed – tiny white scars lightened her bronzed flesh, while half of her scalp had been burned down to the roots, making her look almost like a punk rocker.
It suited Artemis.
Liam didn’t want to know what she had looked like before healing.
“What happened?” Liam asked.
“You were there, dickless,” Artemis said, scowling at him. “I saw you running away with your tail between your legs.”
“We’d been attacked in the flank,” Liam said, trying to sound calm. “Or did you want me to led my men off a cliff?”
Artemis scowled. “You sound like Athena.”
“Athena won you Troy,” Liam said.
Artemis opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked mulish. Then she shook her head. “Fine. I’ll listen to you. But if we’re not killing lizardmen by the end of the week, your head goes on the wall. I didn’t ride a shark here to work for a fucking pussy.”
And with that, she stomped to the captain’s cabin.
Liam rubbed his temple.
“Oh boy.”
***
Meg sat in the nullcage and glared at the wall.
In the cage right next to hers, a badly burned and bandaged Athena was left to her own devices. Meg wondered if they were going to heal the goddess of wisdom – but she doubted it.
The door to the dungeon opened and Meg sprang to her feet.
“Proudfeather,” Skyheart said, his arms spread wide. He spoke the name as if he was greeting a long lost relative. The fact he was didn’t phase Meg at all.
“Asshole,” Meg said, arms crossed over her chest. “Liam told me about people who do that kind of thing. He called it ‘deadnaming.’ Fuck off. Fuck you.”
Meg’s grandfather looked aggrieved. Meg didn’t particularly care.
Skyheart shook his head as he walked over to the nullcage, careful to avoid touching the sculpted crystal of the bar. Nulldarts had been a part of warfare between landlings and valks since the first had been born. Shaped crystal could drain their power but Meg had never seen the same approach applied to a prison until now.
“Proudfeather,” he repeated.
“Meg,” she said, her voice faux sweet.
“Granddaughter,” Skyheart said. His lips were twisting down in a frown. “I came to see if you’d listen to reason. This landling boy you’ve cleaved to-”
“Oh, we’ve done much more than cleaved,” Meg said, grinning at her grandfather. “Heck, we did more than cleave when he didn’t even speak Greek. Though, technically, he still doesn’t speak Greek.” She rubbed her chin. “Meh. He doesn’t need to speak Greek to kick your ass.”
Her grandfather didn’t look amused. His wings rustled as he drew them taut against his back. It was an impressive trick, turning the feathered limbs into a kind of pseudo-cape. Meg had used it herself. Something that most landlings didn’t know, though? It took stretching the wing muscles and compacting your shoulder blades. It was as roughly as comfortable as compacting your knees into your chest. The instant you started, you started wanting to stretch your wings out.
“I’m sure he will, considering that’s three cities conquered by Brax the Golden and your, ah, landling associate-”
“Lover,” Meg said. “Fiance, actually.”
“What!?” Skyheart’s wings snapped out and spread wide.
Liam had called that movement of wings a ‘wing boner.’
Meg had no idea why.
“You cannot marry a landling,” Skyheart spluttered.
“Mom did,” Meg said, casually.
“I won’t allow it,” Skyheart snarled. “You-” He stopped himself. “Do you know a thing about this place that Liam comes from?” He gestured wide. “I do. Brax’s ambassador told me. Their god has observed their world for years. Decades. Your toy comes from a world that makes the barbarians that live in Purgatory look like utter saints. Wars fought by millions of men – with millions of the slain. Not merely warriors, but the humble peasants at home. Weapons that burn a fighter’s lungs out from inside out, or kill from miles away without discrimination, care or honor. Flying machines that drop explosives by the millions, turning entire cities into firestorms.” He shook his head. “And that’s just how they fight. Has your precious Liam told you about the death camps? The rooms that fill with poison, so that hundreds - thousands! - could be slaughtered as quickly as possible?”
He walked closer to the cage, his voice dropping to a hiss. “The furnaces. For the dead. Visible from above the clouds. Has he told you about that?”
Meg looked right into his eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.
“The Shoah,” she said. “Or, in English...” She paused, working the word out carefully. “The Holo-caust.”
Skyheart looked uncertain.
“Of course Liam told me,” she said, her voice soft. “And he told me something you might not be able to see from above the clouds? The people who ran those death camps? Do you know why they did it?” She stepped up, feeling the buzz of the nullcage against her limbs and her skin. Her voice was as level as she could make it, despite the fact that, if her hands hadn’t been caught under her armpits, they would have shaken.
Skyheart’s wings mantled.
Meg barreled over him. “They killed people because they thought they were impure. Lesser. Sub-human. Because they were different.” She smirked. “It’s a good thing you’re blond, granddad. You’d have fit in with the SS pretty well. What was it? Landlings are barely alive? Landlings aren’t worth your time? Landlings are ugly? Stupid?” She sneered, then leaned forward. “They’ll never know the true world that we amazing and wonderful valkyrie dwell in?”
There, she delivered the twist of the knife.
“I never told Liam you even exist,” she hissed.
Meg turned her back to her grandfather, closing her wings around her shoulders.
Skyheart didn’t respond.
He just sighed and walked away.
“Seems we left at the right time...”
The dazed voice drew Meg’s attention. Looking over, she saw that Athena had opened one eye.
“Huh?” Meg asked.
Athena groaned, lifting her head. Pain wracked across her face and she shuddered as she leaned her head against the nullcage wall. “Gods. We left that planet at the right time. Sounds like it, at least.”
“Screw that!” Meg said. “You were banished right when things got interesting. You missed out on the internet and free porn. Give or take a millennium.”
Athena laughed. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan?” Meg put her palm on the cage. “Find a way to escape, challenge my grandfather to a duel, kill him, mount his head on my future home’s wall so he can be really infuriated at all the mind blowing sex Liam and I are having.”
“How savage...”
“Shut up,” Meg said, absently, chewing her lip. “Then win the war. Or maybe win the war before the head mounting thing, I’m improvising.”
***
Liv woke in darkness, aching as she missed something. Her hands reached out – and felt nothing but warm bed next to her. She sat up, blinking. The darkness of the room shifted and the door opened. A scabbard hit the bed next to her with a thump. Her eyes shifted to adapt to the light and she saw Brax looking down at her.
“It’s a blessed blade, made by Brigid herself,” he said, quietly. “Found it in the palace.”
Liv took the scabbard, then yanked it slightly out. She looked down at the pale sheen of the bronze. It reminded her of the same glow that Brigid had put on Liam’s longsword. She smirked and looked up at Brax.
“Thanks,” she said. “But I thought slaves weren’t allowed weapons.”
“You’re escaping tonight,” Brax said. “Sysminor, in his wisdom, has lumped the wounded Tuatha defenders and our Aesir huscrals together in the same hospital. He claims it is to make the healing more efficient, in truth, I don’t think he cares if they try to kill one another. It is a situation ripe for chaos and I intend to take advantage of this. I've made a deal with one of the Aesir. She is going to 'incapacitate' Anizt, then steal a touchkey while I am trying to convince the war council to not attack Babylon. You meet with her and the pair of you escape together.”
Liv’s fingers went to her slave collar. It hadn’t worked for months. Brax had offered her freedom but said that if she came with him, she’d get a chance to ruin her father’s plans. Thus far, she had done precious little.
Beyond fuck his brains out, part of her muttered.
Since thinking of that still made her cheeks burn and her body ache for round two, she squashed the thoughts in a box at the back of her brain. Brax hadn’t looked her in the eye since then, so she figured that someone as intelligent as him could be just as confused as a swordslinger like her.
There was no time for questions or goodbyes. Liv slid from her bed and simply nodded. “Got it. Plan?”
“Get to the Hellenic League and tell Zeus that Ares is a traitor,” Brax said. “And that my army is going to attack New Athens.” He sighed. “If Ares wasn’t behind sending Artemis on a diplomatic negotiation, then I’ll eat my tail.”
“That’s giving my dad a lot of credit for being clever,” Liv muttered as she strapped the scabbard to her hip. “So. That was the big plan? Use me as a messenger?”
Brax sighed. His head turned and he looked at the door, then back at her. For the first time in what felt like years but couldn’t have been more than weeks, he met her eyes. His voice was soft. “Liv, the truth is...” He grinned and for a moment, he looked like all the weight of the world had dropped from his shoulders. “Well, I don’t actually plan anything but battles. Everything else is just taking advantage of chaos and making sure useful people are on hand.” He paused. “And, I will admit, I have an eye for talent.”
Liv nodded. Fair enough.
“Now, I have to go and talk these people into not winning the war,” Brax said. “The gods save me from intelligent allies.”
Liv paused, then kissed his cheek. The kiss turned into something deeper as his muzzle and her lips connected. His tongue plunged into her throat, his hand reaching down. He squeezed her ass firmly, his claws denting her skin. Liv shivered and reveled in her invulnerability. She pressed to him, and felt him rise to the occasion. She knew she should draw back before-
Brax shoved her back, panting. “Go.”
Liv nodded, then started out to the door. The corridor beyond was sparsely populated and dimly lit.
She grinned.
Elves were born for situations like this.
***
Brax lounged back in his seat and watched as Skyheart pointed at a map of Babylon. Being the biggest city in Purgatory had advantages and disadvantages. The biggest being that anyone on any part of Purgatory with a high enough elevation could look outwards or upwards and see your city. Add valks to the equation, and maps were almost too easy.
“We teleport attack teams of valks and your elite lizardfolk here, here and here,” Skyheart said. “We take the gatehouses, we take the palace, and we have Vanderbilt hanging from a gibbet before the day is out.”
“Y-yes yes good good.” Sysminor took up half the room. The false god refused to ever be anything less than his full scale when in a group meeting. His crystalline bulk cast a pale blue glow over everything. The Aesir leaders who had bent the knee to him were clearly in awe. Even Skyheart seemed to be impressed. But Brax, through long association, felt only crushing cynicism.
“Very good,” Brax said. “If you want to have our armies arrive in many small pieces.”
Sysminor turned his rough hewn head to look at Brax. “Ex-Ex-Explain pain pain, explain this, Brax B-B-Braxsssss.”
Brax sighed. “We had Tethis killed because she was the foremost expert on teleport shrines. But we obviously didn’t move quickly enough. My spies...” He snapped his fingers. Fizit stepped up behind him and gave him a scroll. He unrolled it, tapping the Latin letters that sprawled across it. “They say that there are new crystal objects being used by several of the city guard at certain points. The port, especially.” He shook his head. “They don’t seem to do anything. But we know Tethis was working on something before her assassination. It’d take a fool to forget about teleport shrines.”
Skyheart frowned. “You think that they made a defense?”
“I would,” Brax said.
“But we have to take Babylon,” the valkyrie general said, his voice tight.
“Yes...” Sysminor rubbed a large hand against his chin. It sounded like two boulders being ground against one another. “But how how?”
“With those walls? We need more forces,” Brax said. “I’d hate to sacrifice our...allies.” He looked at the Aesir leaders. Strum Stormborn looked as sour as any viking ever born. His scarred face had a new marking – a mass of knitted flesh where a Minié ball had clipped his chin and blown half his jaw off. Without healers, he’d never have eaten again, let alone spoken. “To take those walls. And even my genius cannot overcome cannons with grapeshot and rifled muskets.”
Sysminor started to glow brighter blue. He slammed his fists into the ground and surged to his feet, stooping forward to not bash his head through the ceiling. He started to screech and howl – the rising and falling pattern of his voice causing everyone but Brax to bridle. Even Skyheart looked like he was having a hard time not clapping his hands over his ears.
“Damn damn damn dam-d-d-damnati-on-on!” Sysminor screeched. “I want Liam – Liam – dead! I want gun-gun-gun-”
Brax held up his hand. “My Lord God,” he said, trying to sound placating. “I have an alternative route. One that will get us not only an extra ten thousand men and women, easily, but will also bolster our navy enough to force the port even with cannons.” He smiled. “The Hellenic League. Fractured. Competing. Name a time in history where Hellenes aren’t trying to kill each other.” He waved his hand. “And more, we have Ares.”
“But that gives Vanderbilt time,” Skyheart muttered.
“Give him time,” Brax said, his voice soft, “And it will leave him alone. And no matter how many guns he has, no man can stand alone.”
The others looked thoughtful. Brax, though, only had eyes for Sysminor. He felt his scales tighten, his tail still. The false god looked as if he was caught between two states, his head buzzing between two nearly identical permutations. The end result was that he looked like his head was blurring into a haze. Then his head snapped to one position.
He nodded.
And that was that.
Liam had his time.
***
Vulkis groaned as he opened one eye. His head pounded like a drum. He felt queasy – even while laying down, he felt as if he was on the deck of a ship. That made him less hopeful than he would have hoped. He didn’t hear any waves, any calls of sea birds. No sound of crew. Instead, his ears were filled with the groans and coughs of the injured. His nose flared and he could smell the faint tingle of magic.
A priest stepped over him. He wore the symbol of one of the Tuatha but which Vulkis could not say. He looked grim.
“You’re lucky to be alive, Hellene,” he said.
“Not-” Vulkis clenched his jaw, his brain screaming at him through the thick fog that threatened to consume everything. He closed his eyes and felt his consciousness starting to fade. He was drawn back by the touch of the priest on his forehead. He opened his eyes. “Not sure if I should thank the gods or curse them.”
The priest shook his head. “You were trampled. Head cracked, ribs broken. I think you should thank Ares at least for watching over you.” He clucked his tongue. “You should be walking by the end of the month.” He trailed off, his face growing haunted. “Most of our magic is being drawn to other tasks.”
Vulkis’ throat worked and he nodded to the priest.
“Thanks for doing what you can,” he rasped.
The priest stepped away and let Vulkis take a look around the hospital. The cot he was in sat in the corner of a large, dark room. Dozens of other cots were laid out near him, with dozens of injured people on them. He saw a goblin beside him. Further away, he saw someone standing upright – a lizardman. The lizardman was a giant. He was easily big enough to make two of Vulkis.
Vulkis’ eyes widened as he saw a shadow grow behind the lizardman. In the darkness of the hospital, the figure looked as if they had come from nowhere. But Vulkis’ ears told him what his eyes couldn’t: the creak of a cot, the squeak of wood. The figure that had risen from their sick bed moved with speed, smashing a chamber pot in the back of the lizardman’s head. The lizard staggered, dropped to one knee, then smashed face first onto the ground.
A quiet groan came from above Vulkis’ head. He craned his head back. A human was sitting up in the cot placed near Vulkis, watching the scene with a look of horror. He opened his mouth. “Help!” he rasped. “Help, guards!”
Vulkis’ pounding head filled with confusion. Why put the injured enemy with your own wounded? He didn’t have time to figure out the reason behind that madness, or even if there was a reason. Right now, Vulkis had to act. He scrambled forward, ignoring the ache of his head, the scream of his ribs. His body felt as if it was about to fall to pieces but he still managed to fling himself up and over the other human. His arm forced against the man’s throat, choking the raspy voice out. The other human struggled but whatever had injured him had left him even weaker than Vulkis.
His left arm slapped weakly against Vulkis’ shoulder. The impact, light as it was, sent jagged spikes of pain through Vulkis’ chest. Vulkis coughed and, despite the darkness, saw a patina of red splash across the other man’s face, flecking his beard. Vulkis tasted blood and couldn’t help but cough again.
And again.
He was having a hard time drawing breath.
Then he felt an arm slide around his shoulder, pulling him back. The other human laid still, and Vulkis let himself be dragged backwards. He almost collapsed with relief as Eerika whispered in his ear.
“Vulkis? No wonder that mad gold lizard didn’t offer the escape job to you,” she said, sounding entirely too jovial, considering the situation. “You seem half dead.”
Vulkis closed his eyes, then coughed again. More blood dribbled from his mouth. He opened his lips as wide as he could and tried to breathe in, but he felt his chest tight and compact. He couldn’t get in air. He couldn’t breathe. Eerika seemed to have realized something was wrong by the way she shifted her grip on him.
“Vulkis?” she asked. Everything was going dim. Vulkis heard the faint sound of hurried footsteps.
Light flared before his eyes.
The priest stood there, a mage light in his hand. He looked at Vulkis, Eerika, the unconscious lizardman and the slain soldier who had fought for Sysminor. Eerika paused a beat, then said: “I can explain. Your general-”
The priest touched Vulkis’ chest. Healing energy surged through the huscral and Vulkis drew a deep, shuddering gasp. His back arched and he closed his eyes tightly. “Thank the Gods – and you, thank you so much,” he mumbled.
“Fly,” the priest whispered. “I’ll have discovered you escaped shortly. Run. Now!”
Vulkis and Eerika didn’t need to be told twice.
The two of them hurried through the hospital – as fast as Vulkis could hurry, anyway. His lungs might not be filling with his own blood anymore, but every step still sent jagged pain through his lungs and his head. But Eerika held him upright with her shoulder, her arm looped around his back. She muttered under her breath.
“I don’t know if we can trust the golden bastard, but do we have a choice?”
“Liam mentioned this Brax,” Vulkis hissed, “When I visited him in Babylon. Yeah. I think we can.”
Eerika nodded to herself.
“Neb?” Vulkis asked. “She was fighting with us – is she here?”
“I don’t know. Come on, we have to find the girl Brax wants us to help,” Eerika whispered as they emerged from the hospital onto the streets. The sun had winked out earlier, though Vulkis had no idea how long ago. Mage lights provided some illumination for Olimurias, making it clear which way to go to reach the harbor. Eerika started down the street, moving along the walk nearest to the building, keeping them to the darkest shadow. Vulkis, though…
“We’re being followed,” he whispered.
“I know,” Eerika whispered back. She paused, then pushed him to the side. Vulkis’ back thumped against the side of an alleyway – forcing the air from him with a pained wheeze. Erika turned, her only weapon a makeshift club. A blade knocked it aside and then the form stepped into the light of one of the mage torches that illuminated the streets of Olimurias.
Liviana of Sparta grinned at the two Aesir.
“I hear you’re heading for the port,” she said.
“Good gods, Liv, what are- wait. You’re the one Brax, ah-” Vulkis winced as something inside his chest grated. “He wants out?” he asked, gasping around the pain. Godkiller said that you were missing. I never heard quite what happened to you. How did you get here? With Brax?”
“Long story. Come on.” She jerked her head and started forward at the mile eating lope of a trained warrior. Vulkis groaned and forced himself forward. Eerika threw her arm around his back, helping him up and hurrying forward with him.
As they grunted along, Eerika whispered, “You know her?”
“After a fashion,” Vulkis whispered back.
When they arrived at the docks, Liv had been scouting from a hiding spot for at least five minutes. She didn’t glance back at Eerika and Vulkis as they hobbled over to her. Instead, her eyes were taking in the docks. “I count thirty scaled guards, ten Aesir,” she said. “Two of them are elves, but they’re drunk. They’re loading every ship with supplies – looks like it’s for a siege.” She nodded to herself. “So, he got through to them.”
Eerika looked at Vulkis. Vulkis shook his head, mutely. Not the time for questions.
“And there it is,” Liv said, jerking her chin.
Looking across the harbor, Vulkis' heart sank.
He had hoped for his ship – his original, Aesir longship - but that one, he saw, was currently being loaded with foodstuffs by a few goblins. No, the ship Liv indicated was barely a dinghy. A fishing ship, made to scoot out into the Platonic Sea, catch some family’s feed, then sail home.
“We’re going to New Athens in that,” Liv said.
“You have a, ah, great respect for our seamanship,” Vulkis said through gritted teeth as his body found a new piece of pain to inform him of. He shifted his back against the wall. “How do we get there?”
“I’ve been watching their scout patterns. We move, move, move,” Liv said, sheathing her sword. She turned to face him, then shrugged, knelt, and lifted Vulkis up over her shoulder. Her body strained and Vulkis wouldn’t have believed that she was actually lifting him, save that she was. Liv panted, then started forward, jogging quickly. Each jostling movement sent new spikes of pain through Vulkis. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out as Liv sprinted forward. He could feel a tremble working through her body – her arms quaked, her shoulders quivered. But she kept going. Behind him, he saw Eerika jogging along.
They moved from shadow to shadow, the sounds of the loading and the calls of the teamsters from one to the other covering the scuff of their feet.
Then…
The sun kindled.
Cries of alarm came from every teamster, and several people almost dropped their belongings. Guards hissed and rubbed at their eyes as the normal confusion that came from those who had to work through the night – it always seemed like a surprise if you didn’t sleep through a kindling.
Liv, to her credit, didn’t stumble.
Eerika, however, froze like a panicked animal.
“Hey!” a lizardman guard standing on one of the roofs of the buildings that framed the port called out. He pointed at them. “Stop! Alarm!”
Liv put on an extra burst of speed, leaped, and landed in the dinghy. The ship rocked up and down in the water then surged almost over as Eerika sprang in. She yanked the rope that connected the dinghy to the pier, which came free. Vulkis – who had been unceremoniously dumped back onto the bottom of the ship – felt something come loose inside of himself. He clenched his jaw, then lifted his arm.
He pointed.
“There,” he said. “Tug th-” He coughed, suddenly. His hand wiped along his mouth and he blinked as he saw blood on his hand. He closed his eyes. He may have done better to stay behind. But then he shook his head. “Sail!”
Liv grabbed what he pointed towards. The wind was already starting to pick up. The sail billowed and caught and the light ship leaped forward as the lizardfolk running towards the pier. They started to hurl javelins at them, the weapons plunging into the water. Several even leaped into the water. As they started to dart towards the ship, Liv drew her sword again. It flashed in the sunlight, and with more than just the sheen of bronze. She placed her feet and when the first lizardman grabbed onto the edge of the ship and dragged himself up, she put the blade through his forehead. The lizardman twitched and the blade slipped back with a wet crunch.
Another sprang up from the other side, holding a short dagger in one hand. He scrambled forward and stabbed Liv in the back.
Liv snorted. “Come on,” she said, turning around. She grabbed the dagger in her hand, wrenched it from the lizardman’s hand. He slashed at her with his claws but they skittered off her arm, harmlessly, and Liv lopped his hand off, then kicked him in the snout. As he fell backwards, she shook her head.
“Assholes.”
The wind picked up further. The other ships looked completely filled with supplies – none were ready to set sail at a moment’s notice. Liv nodded as she put her foot on the railing that ringed the dinghy. She turned to look at Eerika, who was holding the rudder one handed, her eyes focused on the sails.
“We’re going to need to set those to rights but we might make it,” she said, laughing. “So, what’s the plan, Vulkis?”
The waves lapped against the ship.
“Vulkis?”
The two women looked down.
Vulkis’ head had lolled to the side. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Liv knelt down, putting her ear to his mouth. She frowned. “He’s drowning in his blood,” she said, quietly.
“What do we do?” Eerika asked.
But she knew the answer.
“We-” Liv started. She cut herself off.
Slowly, she shook her head. “Idiot,” she muttered as she looked down at Vulkis.
“He didn’t want to die in bed,” Eerika said, her voice soft. “He’s Aesir.”
“So, he was born an idiot, then,” Liv said. Then her face softened. “Go to Valhalla, you womanizing son of a bitch.”
***
“They’re heading for New Athens, sir,” the scout said, dropping her salute. Brax nodded, his voice curt as he responded.
“Very good,” he said. “Go to the ships – we’re sailing after them.”
The scout nodded and started off. As the rest of the army continued to muster at the piers, Brax turned and marched towards where Sysminor was holding his quarters in the Citadel. Walking through the corridors – most of them empty, and several still scorched – Brax reviewed his plans. The entire world felt like it was becoming more and more chaotic every second.
Good.
He came to the chambers – the finest ones left in the Citadel that hadn’t been burned or damage during the taking of the city and was relieved to see the pale blue glow of Sysminor’s presence underneath. No guards. Sysminor had stopped using guards recently. Brax wasn’t entirely sure why, but it made him wary. When he opened the door, he heard the quiet gasp of a female voice.
“Oh God!”
Brax peeked ever so slightly around the corner leading into the room.
Brigid was splayed against Sysminor’s chest, her eyes unfocused as the rock-like form of the false god caressed her back. The Tuatha goddess was achingly beautiful. Her face had a thin patina of freckles, and her upturned nose gave the perfect accent to the slightly bookish air she had. Her hair was long and pale white, flowing along her back like a silvery waterfall. Her back had just as many freckles as her front, and her butt was as firm and taut as a drum. Perfection – and to see it being groped and squeezed by Sysminor’s geometrically marred hands was…
Insulting.
“I can see,” Brigid moaned, her breath coming fast and eager as she ground her plump, puffy pussy against Sysminor’s knee. Her juices dripped along his blue flesh, adding an extra shine to him as her breasts squished slightly against his chest. Her head ducked forward as Sysminor’s fingers came up to caress her temple. “Oh God!”
Brax frowned.
“Yesss yess yes,” Sysminor murmured. “Think of the knowledge...”
Brigid nodded eagerly, her lips spreading into a wide grin. She looked…
Drugged.
Sysminor, meanwhile, seemed to grow more brighter. More focused. Brax frowned. He couldn’t say it for sure, but his gut said that Sysminor was - somehow - taking knowledge from Brigid.
Brax coughed, quietly.
Sysminor snapped his head to the entryway. Brax didn’t even need his long experience with the false god to see smugness spreading across his face. Brigid shuddered with orgasmic pleasure, her back arching as she gasped, her eyes widening further. Light shone from within as Sysminor touched her pussy with his finger, then plunged it home.
“What new information target lock do you have have on the the theeee traitors slaves?” Sysminor asked.
“They’re fleeing to Babylon,” Brax said. This was not the most risky gamble he had ever made in his life.
But it was up there.
Sysminor rubbed his finger along his chin as his other finger continued to plunge into Brigid. From the things she mumbled under her breath as Sysminor finger fucked her – words like parasitism and synthesis and marxism – Brax had a suspicion that far more was going on than mere sex. He didn’t hope to understand it. He merely hoped to use it.
“If we press the attack on New Athens, we won’t have time to fully take advantage of this city, but-”
“No,” Sysminor said, chuckling. “This goddess slut slut goddess has already ready give given us the information – logical – information on the mages and priests of this city city.” He nodded. “They will march.”
Brax nodded curtly.
He turned on his heel.
As he left, Sysminor hissed, then added a second finger to the goddess. Brigid wailed, her eyes closing as she buried her face against his chest. Sysminor waved a single finger and spoke a word that wasn’t a word. The invisible servants of Purgatory – the servants he was starting to contact once more – sent their message. Brigid slid her hips up, panting.
“Do...” She paused. “Do you have a cock, my God?”
Sysminor shook his head.
Brigid pouted, her silver hair spilling around her face as she muttered something under her breath. But Sysminor didn’t care. Not anymore. The door to the room opened once more.
Skyheart stepped in. The valkyrie looked as sour and as bitter as a spoiled fruit, and did not bother to hide it as he bowed to Sysminor.
“Yes, my lord?” he asked.
“You wish to attack Babylon, yesss?” Sysminor asked.
Skyheart looked up.
His face lightened.
“Come. I have something to show show you,” Sysminor said, standing. He dumped Brigid on the floor, leaving her panting, her eyes unfocused. The two of them strode from the room. “A name. Name. Perfect name perfect per-purr-fect.”
The last words she heard, before the door closed.
“Greek fire.”