The Reaver and the Priestess

The king had promised a thousand pieces of jade to the first warrior through the breach. Krajali, a flame-haired warrior-woman of the distant eastern steppes, intended to claim that prize. Even as the barrage of stones from the catapults assailed the great walls of Heskor, Krajali had pushed her way through the formations of eager mercenaries. Most of the greedy killers were too busy staring at the majestic might of the ancient walls to stop her.

One fool, however, chose to object to her passage. He wore tattered hide armor reinforced with bronze discs, which marked him as a warrior from the southern plains of Zalhum. Upon his head was an iron helmet adorned with the tusks of a saber-cat. Clutched within his blue-painted hands was a simple spear, which he planted into the dirt at her feet.

Narrowing his eyes, the Zalhumi warrior examined her. Doing so required him to crane his head upwards, for Krajali towered over him by at least half a foot. The other blue-painted warriors turned, hands gripping their spears as they glared at the woman who dared take their place in the vanguard.

Some of those glares turned to lustful leers. One man even whistled as he admired her toned, muscular form. Another stared openly at her breasts, which were covered by thick straps of iron-reinforced leather. The paltry armor left her chiseled midsection base, though her strong, lean legs were covered by a skirt made of crocodile-hide. Dusty, elk-hide boots protected her feet. Upon her back was a battered wooden shield, reinforced with strips of iron. Strapped to her hips were two axes forged from the metal of fallen stars. Those hallowed weapons garnered just as much attention as her figure.

The night wind rustled against her pale face, causing her long red braid to flutter. As her cold green eyes stared down at the Zalhumi warrior, both of her scarred hands reached down to settle upon her axes.

As the two warriors stared, the king's forces unleashed another bombardment, sending a storm of projectiles against Heskor's legendary walls. Rune-etched stone cracked but did not rupture. Distant taunts rose from the defenders within the city's towers.

"You are in my way," Krajali growled, her voice as thunderous as the impacts of the bombardment upon the walls.

"We've been here for hours," the Zalhumi hissed. "Waiting for the breach so that we can claim the king's prize. Go on back there with those Tevshari."

He pointed his spear at the massed ranks of Tevshari tribesmen: warriors with hooked iron blades and breastplates of red bronze. Tattoos of swords and serpents adorned their tanned skin. Brave and skilled as such men were, none had dared stand in her way as she had pushed towards the front of the besieging army.

"I have seen Zalhumi men fight before," she said, keeping her voice low. "I know that you will step aside, let the Tevshari warriors take the brunt of the first assault, and then rush over their corpses to claim the breach."

Curses rippled through the blue-painted warriors.

"You question our courage?"

"No. I simply point out the truth of your tactics. But if you like, we can put your courage to the test right now, before the walls fall," the redhead said, a slight smile tugging on the edges of her lips.

Both of Krajali's hands tightened around her axes.

"By the sacred stars," another Zalhumi murmured. "I thought I recognized this one. The axes, the red hair...you are the She-Tiger of Nalhara, yes?"

A hungry smile befitting that nickname spread across her pale face.

"That is one of my many names, yes. In Far Tarhaal, they call me the Witch-Wolf. In Tevshar, I am known as the Red Wind." She raised an eyebrow. "In your home of Zalhum, they have no name for me yet. But I would be glad to commit bloody deeds tonight to earn such a name. Fool-Slayer, perhaps."

The man before her swallowed, took a single step back, but tightened the grip on his spear.

"If you want to go first, be my guest," he hissed. "We'll just trample on your corpse on our way to the breach."

His comrades let out low, nervous chuckles as they parted before her. Hands still upon her axes, Krajali stepped past the mercenaries and crouched down beside the barricade of stones and sharpened stakes.

Keen green eyes stared at the cracks in the great black walls of Heskor. Having borne witness to a dozen sieges and assaults during her travels, she was certain the fortifications would shatter before long. After only a few well-placed stones the great walls would come tumbling down.

Through that breach, she could find fortune and glory.

"Xatarak, Father of Fury and Brother of Battle: fill my soul with iron and stain the earth with the blood of my foes," she muttered under her breath, calling upon the fierce war-god. Though she had not sworn her soul to any single god, only a foolish warrior would fail to invoke Xatarak before a fight such as this.

The very moment the last syllable left her lips, the next barrage of stones slammed into the cracked wall. A hungry smile spread across her face as a great fissure tore through the stone like a bolt of lightning. Despite the onslaught, the walls remained otherwise intact.

Unstrapping the shield from her back, Krajali rose. Shocked laughter rippled from the Zalhumi mercenaries behind her.

"The madwoman is going to make a dash for it even when the walls still stand," one said.

Their doubt only added fuel to the fire of Krajali's reckless pride. Her grin widening, she rolled her shoulders and vaulted over the low barricade of stones. Curses and shouts rose from behind her as she broke into a fierce sprint.

Another storm of stones sailed overhead, impacting the compromised wall. Just as she'd expected, the fissure erupted into a dozen more cracks. Dust rose as the black stone gave way. Tremors rippled through the wall as the breach spread, sending down an avalanche of stone and kicking up a great cloud of dust.

Trumpets and horns shrieked from behind her. More stones rained down, weakening other sections of the wall. Even with one breach made, the king's forces would need more ways into the city.

Krajali cared not for the efforts of the other mercenaries and royal soldiers, however. All that mattered was reaching the breach first so that she could claim her prize.

The Heskorite archers on the walls, though stunned by the sudden collapse of their defenses, readied their bows. A flock of arrows hissed through the night. With a grunt, Krajali rolled, raised her shield, and the battered wood endured the onslaught. Even as her arm thrummed with the force of absorbing those impacts, she rolled again and resumed her mad sprint.

"Go, go, go!" one of the Zalhumi shouted. "After her, lads!"

Thunderous howls filled the cool night air as the Zalhumi warriors rushed past the barricades. No doubt they prayed to Xatarak that the archers would claim her life and thus grant them the glory of reaching the breach first.

The Heskorite archers on the walls, however, had better sense than to waste their time cutting down a single madwoman rushing across open ground. They unleashed their volleys over Krajali's head. Screams and wails erupted from the mercenaries behind her, though she spared not a single ounce of sympathy for their plight.

Over the screams she could make out the signal-drums of the city's garrison as they rallied to reinforce the breaches. Death and doom no doubt awaited her through that storm of dust, but the offered prize was too great for her to back down. Reckless pride spurred her onwards.

A paltry volley of arrows sliced down towards her. Most thudded into the dirt while she deflected the others with her shield. One came within an inch of her cheek. A thrill seized her body, her mad grin widening at the close brush with death.

She could not help but laugh with glee; perhaps the war-god Xatarak did indeed smile upon her.

Tearing her axe from her belt, Krajali rushed into the storm of dust. Her booted feet leapt over the rubble and the bodies of defenders who had been dragged down by the wall's collapse. A few more frantic steps brought her to the interior of the city.

Dust wafted down the wide stone streets. Before her loomed the slums of Heskor: a sprawling mess of clay hovels and reed huts. Frightened faces stared at her through windows and doorways. The innocent civilians needn't have feared her: she only cared for seizing the breach and the king had decreed that only those who fought were to be slain.

Shouts rose from her left. Axe and shield in hand, she turned as a small mob of Heskorite soldiers thundered down the staircase that led from the walls. They wore short golden cloaks and bronze breastplates inlaid with gleaming lines of silver. Long strands of horsehair dangled from their helmets. They bore spears or curved short-swords in their sweaty, trembling hands.

At the sight of only a single warrior before them, a few of the Heskorites laughed.

"Is this all that the craven king dares send against us?"

"I am all that heneeded to send," Krajali growled, a feral smile upon her pale face. "Now come, you dogs: the gods of death long to meet you!"

Krajali pounded her axe against her shield, unleashed a wolfish howl, and charged. With the fury of Xatarak coursing through her, she unleashed carnage upon the defenders. Her star-forged axe hacked and hewed, tearing into flesh. Her shield bashed in faces as her feet kicked and stomped. She became a whirlwind of iron death, turning their shock and fear into a weapon. Blood stained her pale face and the ancient black stone beneath her feet.

Shouts and horns echoed from behind her. The Zalhumi had made it to the breach, no doubt, even as other defenders from elsewhere in the city rushed in to slow the tide.

Uncaring of the Zalhumi or the fate of the other attackers, Krajali pushed further into the reeling mob of defenders. She left her axe in the neck of a gurgling warrior, snatched up his spear, and skewered another man through the leg. Drawing her second axe, she used her shield to deflect a sword-slash, then tore through the man's knee. When two javelins punched into her shield, weighing it down and rendering it useless, she released the shield and reclaimed her axe from the dying man's neck.

With both bloody axes in hand, her wrath intensified. Krajali's body became a conduit for the fury of the gods, a living flame of divine rage. The gods of the underworld reached up, empowering her and spurring her onward, using her fury as a means to drag more souls down into the darkest depths.

Blood leaked from a dozen small wounds. Spears had grazed over her toned stomach. A sword had chopped into her forearm, leaving a deep and leaking gash. An arrow had punched into the armored straps covering her breasts, just barely piercing the skin. A spear had grazed over the back of her thigh, but Krajali growled through every burst of pain.

And the bloody night was far from over. Glory still awaited.

**

The gods of the underworld feasted well that night. More breaches in the walls allowed in hordes of mercenaries, followed by the more disciplined royal troops. Her path of iron and blood sent her deeper into the city, fighting alongside scattered bands of attacking soldiers. One minute she was alongside those blue-painted Zalhumi, tearing into a phalanx of Heskorite spearmen. The next minute she was storming a manor alongside tattooed Tevshari mercenaries to dislodge a company of archers upon the structure's roof. Then she was back on the streets, fighting alongside royal swordsmen to break the rebels within a once-teeming spice market. Precious spices spilled upon the stone, entwining with the growing streams of blood.

Fight after fight, kill after kill. A night of blood and glory.

Panting, Krajali staggered away from the blood-soaked marketplace and leaned against a stone wall. As the sounds of distant battle consumed the city around her, she opened her pack and withdrew a bundle of healing herbs. She smeared the flowers into her wounds, dulling the pain and slowing the bleeding. As the herbs sent wondrous tingles through her aching body, she ate a fistful of pink petals that filled her with a surge of warmth.

Her body would still require a great deal of rest and recovery before long, but at least she was back in the fight. Knowing that more glory awaited, she rolled her shoulders and sprinted back through the spice market.

The search for blood took her down a wide avenue covered with the bodies of Heskor's defenders. Some of the king's elite had fallen as well, but their comrades had been too eager for blood to tend to the dead. Desperate locals had already scurried from their homes to loot the corpses. Most scattered like panicking birds at her approach, but she paid them no mind.

Shouts drew her attention to a moonlit street lined with marble statues. The statues depicted various gods or legendary heroes: a spearman with the head of a tiger, a three-headed woman with golden breasts, and a boy with serpents for arms. Dozens of Heskorite soldiers were scattered about or slumped against the statues, their blood staining the ancient marble. Several blue-painted Zalhumi mercenaries had fallen as well. Blood of defenders and mercenaries alike formed a grisly pool in the middle of the street.

Behind the statues were the temples and shrines to various gods. She recognized a ziggurat of blue stone sacred to Har-Kessilt, the god of the sea. Alongside that shimmering ziggurat was an ominous tower of black stone dedicated to Mentu the Blackflame, a god of death and fire.

The sacred doors to both structures had been bashed open. Blue-robed bodies rested within the shadow of the ziggurat, their blood staining the sacred stone of their temple.

Krajali gritted her teeth, her sweaty hands coiling around her axes. The king had prohibited looting and wanton slaughter, for he had intended only to punish the warriors and the leaders of the revolt, not the innocents caught up in the rebellion. And yet greedy men had already stormed those temples in defiance of the king's edict.

And even if the king had not prohibited the looting, the desecration of such temples would have brought down divine wrath upon his army. The gods had smiled upon Krajali during her rampage through the city and it would be a grave offense if she turned a blind eye to such sacrilege.

Farther down the street, a half-dozen Zalhumi men were battering against the iron door leading to a walled compound. Beside the gate was a statue of a curvaceous, naked woman wearing a helmet made from a wolf's skull. Rising from between the statue's shapely legs was a thick, erect cock.

Though many of the western gods were still unfamiliar to her, she would have recognized such divine artwork anywhere. Vathori was a goddess of fertility and the wilderness, a deity whose rituals had blessed the farms and pastures of Krajali's homeland. Nearly every farmer and shepherd owed the bounty of their fields to Vathori's grace. Moreover, it was said that she had once been the war-god Xatarak's favored consort.

And those wretched, greedy fools would spit upon such divinity by desecrating Vathori's temple.

"Foul dogs!" she bellowed, clanging her axes together. "Are your senses so addled that you cannot heed the king's command?"

The blue-painted warriors whirled, spears and axes at the ready. Undaunted by their glares, she continued her advance until she came to the base of the staircase leading to the iron gate. Beyond the gate loomed the temple compound of Vathori: a small green dome surrounded by pillars, all festooned with vines and strands of silk. She caught a flicker of movement through a window of the temple; there were innocent priests or priestesses within, no doubt terrified of the mercenaries bashing upon their gate.

"I see no king with us," sneered one of the Zalhumi. Thanks to the blood upon his face, it took Krajali a moment to recognize him as the one who had challenged her back outside the city walls.

"There are plenty of dead soldiers back there," she hissed, pointing with her axe to the far end of the statue-lined street. "The king did not forbid the looting of fallen foes. Go and claim your prizes from them and leave Vathori's shrine be."

"Why do you even care?" hissed another. "I see no holy marks of the Harvest-Mother upon you."

Around his neck glittered a necklace of sapphires which bore the holy runes of a priest. A glance at the others confirmed they'd already adorned themselves with other sacred loot. One man was nearly hunched over beneath the weight of a pack that was certainly filled with ill-gotten treasures from the ransacked temples.

"Vathori's power saved my clan from starvation when I was a child," Krajali growled. "And the gods blessed me with good fortune this night. I shall not repay that favor by allowing you to pillage any further."

"You should have just run off to the king to claim your reward for taking the breach," snapped another mercenary.

He took a few steps down towards her, his bloody sword at the ready.

His next step down the staircase proved to be his last. Her axes swung forth in a wild arc, slicing through his thigh. As he screamed and toppled, she darted forward and silenced his scream with a brutal slash. The fool with the heavy pack died next, Krajali's axes carving into his ribs and tearing through the loot-filled bag. Countless holy treasures tumbled down the bloodstained steps.

Krajali spun, her axes claiming blood and glory. A wild swing clipped the iron gate, throwing her off balance. A Zalhumi warrior stepped forward and impaled her thigh with his spear. Howling, she hacked into his neck and staggered back against the gate. The other Zalhumi men advanced, axes and blades eager to claim her life.

She fought like a cornered beast, spitting and snarling. Axes gleaming in the moonlight, she kept the first few at bay. Screaming men toppled before her, rolling down the steps and colliding with the discarded treasures. Blood spattered upon the sacred stairs and the glittering loot.

The survivors rushed at her with the frenzy of hungry dogs. She met them with the fury of a wolf, heedless of the pain coursing through her body. A sword raked across her torso; a spear sliced open her shoulder. Her axes swung in brutal arcs, sending bloody bodies tumbling back down the stairs.

The Zalhumi fool who had challenged her outside of the city was now the only one still standing. Blood leaked from a gash to his forehead. Snarling with pain, he staggered back and tripped over the corpse of a comrade. With a yelp he tumbled down the stairs, cursing and sputtering as he rolled.

When he reached the bottom, he rose to his feet and began a mad sprint down the corpse-covered street. Refusing to let that bastard go, Krajali's furious mind could think only of vengeance. Without care for pain or injury, the snarling warrior-woman tore the spear out of her thigh. Even as blood rushed forth, she steadied herself and used the last of her strength to fling the weapon.

Guided by the whispers of the gods, the spear struck true, punching into the back of the fleeing mercenary. He flopped to the street, twitching.

Cursing her foolishness, Krajali winced and slumped back against the iron gate. Both of her hands clasped at the grievous wound to her thigh. The sole bulwark against the pain was the fact that she would go to the underworld covered in blood and glory.

Over the sound of her pounding heartbeat, she heard the creaking of the iron gate behind her. Several figures in shimmering green robes emerged. The priests and priestesses all had the dark hair and dark skin common to the people of Heskor, though they had adorned their bodies with beautiful tattoos of vines and forests. Soft, tender hands reached down to help her to her feet. Without a word to Krajali, the holy men and women dragged her into the compound. They murmured prayers to Vathori as they walked, beseeching the Harvest-Mother for aid.