by Vi Voxley
The way he moved told her all she needed to know about how much better he was. Economic, fast strikes while the others wasted strength trying to catch him off guard with an array of blows.
All the while he didn’t forget about her, crouching behind him. The only reason Leiya could come up with for why she was still alive was that Roven made himself an obvious threat. They wanted to make sure her guardian was properly and definitely dead before getting to their real task of killing her.
What did someone do when they had a few minutes left to live?
She could have prayed to the gods, but they seemed to have completely abandoned her.
Can’t blame them, Leiya thought. They gave me all the protection I ever needed, but I was too stubborn to see it.
She could see the capital at least. Her last view of her beloved city was not a bad one. She loved it as much as any other Brion did, her adoptive home. Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to keep looking. At Roven, for that was all she could do for him – witness his sacrifice. He went down on one knee, a spear jutting through his thigh, but it didn’t stop him from fighting back. But there were so many, so many desperately trying to end him.
And she watched the city too. Her eyes looked for the bright light to have something to focus on, but it was gone. No, not gone. Moving. For some reason, the brightest spark in the capital was moving at a miraculous pace. A hovercraft, then, Leiya thought. Someone’s fancy ride.
Faren, her heart called again.
Two days had done amazing things to her. Before the reception, the general had been the last thing she wanted to see. And now… Leiya would have given anything to see him one more time.
Bodies littered the ground around Roven, but she could see the end was near.
I should call to him, she thought. I should thank him. I… shouldn’t distract him.
The glow was nearly upon them now. Leiya could see shadows stretch longer around them, and it seemed some of their enemies had noticed it as well. She didn’t know what was so interesting about it, but they seemed to even allow a moment to take their eyes from Roven. The great warrior was now lying on the ground, barely breathing.
The streets around them were narrow. It slowed the approaching light down, but not much.
“Oh shit,” Leiya heard one of the warriors murmur. “Oh fuck…”
Her eyes darted to the end of the street. A good thing too, or she might have missed the moment the rescuer arrived for the silly girl.
Her heart missed a beat. And then another.
Faren’s speed was such that he slid to a stop, finally landing in a crouch in the beam of light that was he. Then he looked up. Even Leiya winced at the gaze, but a collective hush went through her attackers. The light around the general changed to a furious dark red. Rays of crimson broke from the glinting edge of the battle ax in his hands.
Slowly, with terrible calm, he rose to his full height. They all took in the sight of him, but what made every spear present rise up on guard was the way his lips curled into a deadly, vicious smirk.
When the most feared general in the Brion armies smiled like that, they were all going to die.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Faren
The air was rank with fear.
It wasn’t a scent unknown to Faren. In fact, the illusory smell of naked terror had always been around him for as long as he could remember. It was a carefully calculated image Brion warriors showed to the world. While it came with hard work to others, Faren had always found it easy to instill the emotion.
The streets of the capital were silent now. The residents seemed smart enough to keep away. Only they remained – he and the frozen group before him.
It wasn’t often that he felt this righteous. The galaxy wasn’t painted in black and white after all. The Brions were viewed as troublesome and quarreling by default, but it wasn’t always true. All their enemies only became ones after no other option was possible.
There had been times when even Faren had doubted the will of the Elders, but they always seemed to be right. This right there, before his eyes, this was easy.
He’d run all the way, but he didn’t need to anymore.
With slow, almost lazy steps, he approached the waiting warriors. To his eyes, they were warriors only in name. The only true one he could see was lying on the ground, bleeding from a dozen wounds, protecting his gesha. Faren wouldn’t forget that, even if he didn’t know whether Roven would live until the healers arrived.
These warriors-in-name-only did at least one thing right – they didn’t run. Bigger crowds and better man had fled from him. No, Faren might have respected them if he could believe for a fraction of a second that they did it out of honor. Facing an enemy was what the Brions did, they didn’t retreat unless it was clear suicide to stay.
These wretches before him had no honor or they would have been serving aboard a ship somewhere. They stayed because they realized their only chance was to bring him down with numbers.
Faren refused to look at Leiya, other than to confirm she was alive and unharmed. That glimpse was enough to make his blood boil. She looked terrified, exhausted. It was hard to keep his pace slow after that, when all he yearned for was blood. He had to remind himself who he was. He was Faren and his fury was his own.
Despite what everyone on Briolina thought, Faren enjoyed neither death nor killing simply for their own sake. It merely seemed so because he was very, very good at killing.
The countdown of the slow steps had almost run its course. From the moment he’d arrived, everything had just been the aim. And he was the killing shot.
The first four enemies were left beheaded before his feet while the others still blinked in confusion. It disgusted Faren to his very core that some might consider these bastards warriors. Falling for such a simple misdirection tactic was embarrassing, but not as shameful as it was for Faren to kill them.
It was so far beneath him he felt himself sinking to their level. Still, the sweet taste of justice drove him onwards. No one would hurt his gesha and be allowed to breathe another day.
Of the almost fifty sell-swords before him, a mere two or three had reacted fast enough, jumping back before Faren dashed forward.
They had thought to kill her. To kill his gesha.
Faren had always known he could have turned out to be a monster. The problem was that very few knew he chose not to be one. From time to time, however, it was necessary to let it out.
The man surrendered the control to the beast within.
The air was filled with screams at once. In anyone else’s hands the ax might have been a clumsy weapon, but not in his. The first idiot to turn his back to his companions had his skull split in two. Even if they were all beneath his notice, Faren didn’t stand cowardice. He ripped the ax free, ducking under the blades of three spears that sought to punch through him. The weapons clashed over his head, and their owners lost their legs for such an amateur mistake.
They crumbled on their mutilated limbs, and Faren snatched up one of the spears. The others were keeping their distance now, giving him a breather. Another runner was nailed to the wall by the spear, aimed to strike him perfectly so as not to make him die instantly. His legs were twitching in a death dance, and everyone who stopped to look at him in horror perished next.
Faren hit one of them in the chest with the butt of the ax so hard one of his lungs must have collapsed judging by the sound of it. He ripped the spear from the warrior’s limp hands, stabbing him through the stomach with his own weapon. The man dropped to his knees, eyes filled with terror and agony. He left the wretch there, a lesson for the others that in a fight you didn’t take your eyes off the enemy.
All that had taken less than a minute. Again, someone tried to run. Faren brought the mighty ax above his head and split another enemy clean in two. One more spear found its way into his hands. He threw it with such power it dragged another enemy with it before finding its mark in the back of the fleeing warrior.
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br /> The weapons sang in the silent air, the ground painted as red as the night around them. With every death, Faren’s fury ripped loose more and more. His valor squares glowed so brightly the attackers’ could barely be seen. Everything was red. He was seeing only red.
They’d tried to kill Leiya.
Distantly he knew she was watching.
It was why he let his ax cut the torso clean off the next warrior, instead of stopping it in the middle. He could have picked the exact moment to leave the warrior screaming in agony, bleeding to death in minutes instead of the instant death he gave him.
It was why he made it quick for the woman crawling from him on the ground. Her long hair billowed over her shoulders. He stepped on it while he dodging a spear flying towards him. He caught the weapon out of the air, ignoring her futile attempts to pull free.
She was screaming. He put an end to that once he had a moment, sending the spear straight back into the eye of its owner. Then he buried his ax in her stomach instead of cutting off her legs and seeing how far she could crawl like that.
He was being merciful. Faren wondered if they were aware of that.
Everything had taken about two minutes, but he remembered all the details. Warriors had a great memory. All those deaths had been too quick to see for most of the enemies. They only saw blood, and limbs, and death lying in his wake.
The fury raged on. Not much left to satiate his need to keep killing, to make all of them pay for the look in Leiya’s eyes with every drop of their blood.
The ones still standing were the only six who Faren had noted before the battle even began. It might have even been worth complimenting them for understanding the basic rule of combat – holding on to your weapon was imperative. He wouldn’t disarm them as easily as he had their companions, but he didn’t need to.
Red still the only color he could see, Faren charged the last six. He felt the hunger in his blood, the rage.
The first of his enemies deflected two of his blows. It would have been impressing if he hadn’t allowed that. Suddenly the man found his spear stuck in one of the dead, and a heartbeat later, Faren reached to pull him face-first into the weapon. He was left half-standing there, blood trickling from his eyes. One of the others stumbled seeing that. It was his end.
Faren was disappointed, but the edge of his ax was merciless. The third and fourth made an attempt to have him fight them both at the same time. Fine idea. The next moment Faren sliced one of the spears in two and its owner a second later. The fourth wasted his only chance by hesitating, and by then, Faren’s ax had sliced through his throat.
The last two backed away from him, but Faren wasn’t about to wait. They’d lived far longer than they should have. Every breath they took was an insult to him. He broke through their defenses with ease, cutting the head off one of them. The last one ended up on his back, the edge of Faren’s ax buried in his chest.
Through the red rage, it occurred to him that Leiya had seen a similar picture of him before aboard the Unbroken. But now, he really was covered in blood and truly looked every bit the picture of the monster he’d been portrayed as all along.
He turned to her, standing in the middle of a pile of corpses. They had been an insult, but now they were dead.
Every fiber of his being wanted to go to Leiya, but he forced himself to wait one more moment, so he could call for his men to send a healer for Roven. The big warrior was now unconscious, but he could make out faint breathing.
Then, he finally allowed himself a sigh. He forced the fury and the rage back down deep inside him where they belonged. To be released only when he allowed it, only when he needed it.
The next moment, Leiya dashed from her hiding straight into his arms. He let his ax drop to the ground, something which he’d never done before, but it couldn’t be helped. Even two hands were not enough to catch Leiya in his embrace, pulling her tightly against him. The feel of her tiny hands clawing at his jacket in desperation to be closer had to be the best thing he’d ever felt.
It had been maddening, hearing of Leiya’s escape. He’d barely made it back to the Unbroken when the call came from Eleya. The ever-cursed Senator Primen had caused enough chaos to escape with his elite guards before Eleya got to him, and her next move had been informing him. Smart move on Primen’s part, Faren thought. Eleya would have made short work of him. The senator would have been no match for a former general.
But that hadn’t greatly concerned him. Hearing that Leiya was on the run, down on Briolina, and that he was up there, too far away to help, had been the one single moment in his life when Faren had felt helpless. It was a horrible, mind-numbing emotion that he was determined never to experience again.
The chip in Roven’s spear had been easy to track. On his way back down to Briolina, Faren had watched it run. The little light blinking in the streets of the capital, keeping a steady pace, and following the standard eluding techniques. Knowing that Roven was better than those chasing him had been the only reason he hadn’t lost his mind.
The scent of Leiya’s hair washed all memories away, dragging him back into the moment. She was in his arms, perfect, and safe, and shivering, and safe, and clinging to him, and safe. Even the indescribable feeling of her warming up to him – gratitude, fear for her life, his mind provided alternatives – couldn’t wash away the sense of relief in him.
Roven had managed to hold out until his arrival. He hadn’t been late. It was unbearable to think of what would have happened if he’d been late.
Leiya was still shivering in his arms. She looked up, tears welling in her beautiful eyes, but her hands refused to let go of him.
“So,” she managed, her voice broken by sobs. “I was right after all. Warriors are terrible to behold when they fight.”
Faren didn’t need to look behind him to guess at what she was referring to. He’d tried to spare her from seeing him in action, even if it was against an inferior enemy, but he couldn’t make her shut her eyes.
“Those weren’t warriors,” was all he could think to say.
Then Leiya said, “I wasn’t talking about them,” and pulled herself up to kiss him.
Her lips were incredibly soft against his, her breath stopping short when he leaned into the kiss. He could feel her tremble in his arms, but it wasn’t out of fear like it once had been. Or possibly it was, but it was a good kind of fear. She was shorter than him, so Faren decided to remove the height issue altogether and lifted her into his arms – she’d given enough signs that for once, she didn’t mind being there.
The whine in her throat sent a shiver down Faren’s spine. It lit his body on fire in a way no woman ever had before. He liked it. Her hands were around his neck, pulling his hair, rubbing her lithe body against his as much as she could. Faren was thankful for the training in a proper military academy that had instilled iron control in him over his own actions, because she was truly testing him. All he wanted was to rip the dress off of Leiya and hold her up against the first wall he could find. To feel her legs spread around him and push himself into that welcoming, wet heat…
He couldn’t do it yet, but there would be time, soon. He would make sure of that. Faren didn’t mind settling for a mere kiss, because it was as if Leiya was trying to melt them together. His hands mirrored hers, pulling her lips even harder against his, buried into her soft, long hair.
Whimpers escaped Leiya’s throat, and a warrior’s keen senses picked up everything she wasn’t saying out loud. Her body was singing in his arms, begging for more of his touch. The heat emanating from her body was enough to nearly drive all sense from his mind, but reluctantly Faren had to break their only second true kiss.
“I take it you might reconsider me as your gerion,” he said.
Leiya laughed so hard at that he began to wonder if he’d been mistaken, but finally she shook her head, wiping her eyes clean.
“Reconsider,” she repeated. “You have to be kidding me. I should ask you that. If you would still accept me as you
r gesha.”
Ah, so that was what had been funny. Faren almost laughed at the question himself.
“You are mine,” he said instead.
Suddenly there was a deep, dark fire in Leiya’s eyes. For a moment he thought it was her pride protesting against belonging to someone, but it was not. It was the bond made manifest, calling to him. It was the hunger for him and the desire. It was burning her up inside just like it did him.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her beautiful voice was husky and breathless.
“Yes, I am yours.”
Faren growled deep in his throat. All images of carrying Leiya away to their rooms on the Unbroken and claiming her like she was pleading had to be pushed aside for the moment.
His men arrived, the healers rushed over to Roven, and from the way they started acting fast, Faren assumed there was hope for the big warrior. They didn’t bother checking the pile of fallen bodies. They knew their general didn’t leave anyone breathing in his wake.
They’d all been trained to predict his commands before he had the need to give them. Seeing his mind was still on battle, they stood at the ready.
“You should go to the Unbroken,” he told Leiya. “You’ll be safe there. I will deal with Primen in whatever hole he thinks will hide him from me.”
Her eyes went wide.
“No,” she protested. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“It wouldn’t be safe for you,” Faren said. “There are better fighters with him than these were.”
“I don’t want to leave your side,” Leiya remained stubborn. “And I want to see him…”
She hesitated. Faren let her make up her mind in peace.
“I want to see him get what he deserves. For everything. For the lies he told me,” she said at last. “It’s what will happen, right?”
Faster than he’d planned with Leiya watching, but nonetheless.
“Yes,” Faren said and felt his lips curl into a pleased smirk.