The Song of Roland Ch. 21

Two guards nearest to the fighting leapt forward, but the Demon was no longer making play. All humanity gone from her hellish face, her expression was that of utter rage. Without skipping a beat she snatched the first guard's sword by the blade, cutting deeply into her palm as she snapped off the upper third of it. Clenching it in her hands she drove the tip of it deep into the second guard's eye as he ran up, shoving him so hard into the ground that it came out the back of his head and pinned his twitching body to the earth.

Her tail wrapped around behind her, snapping hard against the first guard's face and breaking his nose from the impact. He staggered back, but she did not let him escape. She leapt into him, slamming him hard onto his back. Reaching forth, she cruelly jammed her thumbs into his eye sockets, coming to the ground atop him as she pushed in as deep as she could, her face pulling up into an awful grin as the man screamed and cried and expired.

Her bloody work finished, she stood and stalked towards the Priestess, a look of unmitigated wickedness crawling across her countenance. "A neat trick." She spat out, "Here's mine." Her arm rose, fire danced in her palm as a truly monstrous jet of flame coagulated and rose.

A blur of humanity leapt forward into the fray, moving so fast that Roland at first mistook it for a demon's harried stride. The young warrior stepped between the Succubus and her prey, charging forward at the Demon with a heedless bravery that gave even Roland pause. She swung her weapon straight at the Demon's head, nearly taking her full in the face were it not for the creature's heightened reflexes. Ducking back, the Succubus stumbled, her jet of flame firing harmlessly up into the night as she backpedaled.

The counter swing was just as intense. Unwilling to give the creature even a moment of peace, the figure swung her weapon like a staff in a downward strike. Once again on the defensive, the Demon stumbled back, letting out a yelp of surprise. The warrior's weapon smashed into the ground; it was only after she lifted it to swing a third time in two seconds that Roland realized it was a large, heavy maul, not a staff. The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

No human of such slender build could swing that weapon in that manner.

Kelsea, her body still moving so fast that her features were hard to make out through the din tried to hit her yet again. Knocked thoroughly off balance, the Demon was forced to release a last burst of balefire directly into Kelsea's face, engulfing her in bright blue light and obscuring both of them from Roland's view.

"Kelsea!" He cried out, his emotions getting the better of his instincts. Sure enough, she emerged from the fire, unscathed, her clothing burnt to cinders and her maul's wooden haft melted away through her fingers. The metal head dropped to the ground, smoking and glowing from the sudden burst of heat. Kelsea stood, naked and defiant in front of her red sibling, her body curling forward as she lifted her hands to defend herself.

The Succubus gaped at the ostensibly human being standing before her. "How..." She began, but comprehension dawned on her. "What are you doing here, sister?"

"I'm not your sister." Kelsea growled, leaning down on one knee to pick up the broken sword cast aside by the luckless guard who had last tangled with the Succubus. Its broken edge shone in the roaring bonfire behind her, casting it in an otherworldly, bluish glow.

"I thought Morgrim had put a moratorium on more of us." The Succubus replied, "The old fool never was one for growing our numbers. Just look at this place!" The creature circled the naked woman, the two of them locked eye to eye as the creature seemed to consider her opponent. "I never expected him to send someone to actually defend this place!" She let out a lilting laugh. "Gods, the very thought of it!"

"Leave now, and never return." Kelsea retorted, heedless of her nudity, her attention focused entirely on the creature in front of her.

"You're quick, I'll give you that, little sister." The Demon replied, licking her lips. She leapt forward, and just as Kelsea slashed down to cut her she juked to the left, reaching up and grabbing her sword arm at the wrist. With her other hand the Demon took Kelsea by the throat, throwing her forcefully down to the ground on her stomach, twisting her arm as she held the wrist firm. It overextended, bent, then snapped at the elbow. Kelsea screamed. "But you're still such a young little thing. Give it a decade or two, and maybe you can match me."

Roland at last cut through the last of the fading line of Imps. As distracted as she was by the panoply of opponents, the Succubus had failed to notice that her Impish horde had been finally broken by the indomitable will of the Cloister's defenders. Streaming towards the walls, the shattered remnants of the Imp horde scrambled to flee in the face of the abiding vengeance of the exhausted Cultist's blades in their backs. Few would reach the Outer Cloister, and none at all would make it to the relative safety of the alpine forest. Bogdan would see to that.

Striding forward, Roland forced himself to slow his footsteps, approaching from the back as the Demon lorded over her younger sibling her dominance, running her bare feet down Kelsea's back and planting her heel atop her rear, even as the girl whimpered and struggled beneath her grasp. She still had hold of Kelsea's arm. Almyra struggled to her knees, building a prayer into her hands. The Demon took grim note.

"A nice reprieve, I think, Priestess." She said, even as Roland crossed the final feet between them. The Succubus lifted her hand, making yet another attempt to cast her balefire in Almyra's direction. Her face twisted in surprise as nothing happened. She had finally, blessedly emptied her strength. The beast let out an exhausted sigh. "No matter, maybe after I rape your menfolk we can try aga-"

Roland darted forward, grasping the open hand she'd used to cast spells and pulling it hard behind the Succubus' back. Snapping her body around to face him, the creature's reflexes allowed her to respond immediately to the unexpected threat. The half-second of surprise was all that Roland needed. Using the very momentum of her sudden response, the seasoned mercenary leaned backwards, pulling her down with him to the ground with his one hand as he brought the blade up to her exposed throat. Pinning her arm behind her back, he used his now free hand to grab her hard by the chin and lift her head up, turning it forcefully to the left as he dragged the weapon sharply to the right.

He drew her neck across the line of the blade like he was drawing the weapon from its sheath. The skin parted, and she gurgled as the blood rushed forth in boiling heat across the melting snow. Roland held her firm, leaning down hard against the thrashing body and finishing his grim task, cutting her from end to end and keeping the blade tight to her flesh till the flailing slowed. Even still he clenched at her chin, keeping her head up so that her veins could release their full potential across the ground.

He clung to her still longer, Ignoring the pain in his arm and the wondrous smell of her hair in his nose as he sawed the sword two or three more times across her throat, making sure with sheer brutality that the beast would, in fact, die. She did at last, going limp in his arms as the creature that had given them all so much grief came to her final conclusion.

He pushed her lifeless corpse off of him, leaning her almost tenderly to the ground as he looked down at the glassy stare that appeared on her face. That same, Demonic look was there, the same one plastered across the dozens, perhaps hundreds of Imps who littered the courtyard, piled amongst the human bodies who had also fallen in the conflict.

"Roland!" Cried a voice, and he felt a nervous euphoria lodge in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling of victory, of triumph... of survival. The ordeal was over, and now there was only the aftermath. The knowledge that it had somehow concluded made Roland weary beyond words. He fell back against the ground, leaning back on his arms to steady himself as he shook in place. A small body kneeled next to him, leaning against him as she wrapped her arms about his form.

"Gods, Roland!" She cried again, her voice breaking as he felt wet tears stain his dandyish shirt. The frilly thing had given a good account of itself in the course of the evening - all things considered. She squeezed him so tight he felt the air compress in his lungs. She never seemed to know her own strength. "Gods it's you! It's you, it's you!"

"Aye, Kelsea." Roland said, breathing a sigh of relief. He ran his fingers through her hair, leaning to his left as he kissed her cheek. "Aye, it's me."

* * *

Kelsea lay amongst a pile of haphazardly strewn bodies, huddled together in the pile with the man she loved. It had been a harrowing, exhausting night for everyone.

With the Volkhv Bogdan, the Shaman Varric and a select group of the remaining guard out hunting the stragglers who had the courage or the lasciviousness to remain amongst the wreckage, the remainder of the survivors had filed into one of the high churches, filled to the brim with their children and womenfolk. The unbarring of the door from inside revealed a crowd of worried faces, eager for news but frightened of its delivery. Their searching eyes swept across the assorted guardsmen in expectation of spotting their loved ones. Many would be sorely disappointed by their absence.

They cheered at the news of the victory, but many wished to go out and see the devastation for themselves. Almyra herself had insisted they wait until the morrow. "Peace, brothers and sisters." She had said, swaying on her feet from her own injuries, "There is time yet to see what carnage the creatures have wrought. I must tend to the wounded, and the Inner Cloister is still not safe. Pray now for those we have lost; there will be much to do when Gosvin's blessed morning comes."

So they bedded down. With little news save the vague assertion of triumph, few of Almyra's flock that were not the spent guards slept soundly, if at all. A few had begged the soldiers to give them news, but it seemed that Almyra's will had worked its influence upon them, and to a man they remained uncomfortably silent.

Kelsea and Roland had ended up spending their evening together in the church reserved for Gosvin, a high hall of vaulted wood that stretched from the perimeter of the inner wall nearly to the bonfire in the center of the Cloister. Within was a single, large room punctuated every so often by a thick trunk of wood serving as pillars on either side, running to the ceiling. It was the largest church in the complex, with long benches for the parishioners and a traditional brazier stand upon which the Priestess could deliver her sermons.

Ringing the entirety of the complex was a heated bed of coals, whose hot, orange glow gave the room a devilish and shadowy appearance when the ceiling torches were unlit. At the feet of the pulpit sat a great piling of ceremonial matchsticks: kindling with which Almyra could ply her religious ceremonies. At the conclusion of the fire Priestess' speech Kelsea had watched as a small cluster of the cultists, including even a few guards, took a lone matchstick and leaned it into the sconce, setting the tip of it aflame and cupping it gently in their hands. They whispered a prayer into their palms before the small fire wicked away.

Using the open pews and the wide floors surrounding the braziers, the whole of the group had laid out pads and small blankets with which to gain what rest they could. Roland fell asleep immediately, his heavy snores carrying over the soft din of similar snuffles and infrequent coughs that punctuated the otherwise silent atmosphere. His loud articulation had become a common enough experience to Kelsea that they were a strange comfort to her, like a favorite blanket against which she could cuddle to. The rise and fall of his thick chest caused her own breathing to steady, her frayed nerves relaxing as she leaned flush against him and felt the warmth of his body against her.

They were safe. He was whole. That was all that mattered.

She'd dressed his wounds herself. In the immediate aftermath of the other Succubus' demise a sudden deluge of suspicion fell upon her shoulders. Many of the guardsmen had seen Kelsea's fight with her foe, had watched her be bathed in bright blue fire and emerge out the other side unscathed. They had seen with their own eyes the awful effect such azure fury normally had for the tender flesh of mortals. Even in this great moment of triumph, distrustful eyes fell upon her, and harsh queries were arisen at this girl who had survived the impossible.

It had been Almyra that had silenced the doubters. Stepping forward between them and the crowd that had surrounded her. "What are we to do with her, Priestess?" Said Guyles, the grizzled Captain who had led his soldiers unto the very end. His eyes were filled with suspicion, for it had been he who had first noticed Kelsea's miraculous recovery. Her broken arm had already mended itself. "She stepped through the fire unscathed, even as her clothing was burned away." A blush crept across her cheeks and she had modestly reached down to cover her extremities. It was the first time Kelsea had ever felt embarrassed to be naked since she'd become a Demon.

A long pause had followed his words. Almyra seemed to consider her options, hesitating in the face of all that had transpired. "It was..." She'd affixed Kelsea with a long, unblinking stare. "A miracle." There were soft murmurs amongst the assembled guards. "Gosvin himself protected this brave woman from the nascent flames. For fire is his domain, and the demons can only corrupt it, not command it." The hesitant whispers died away, and eyes that had been leery now turned with soft reverence in Kelsea's direction. "She defended one of Gosvin's chosen with her life, and in his eternal mercy he granted her absolution."

"A shame he could not grant it to Percy and Connor." Guyles said softly, looking over at the two guards who had been slaughtered by the Succubus in the moments before Kelsea's intervention. He immediately averted his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "...Forgive my blasphemy, Priestess. It has been a long and terrible night, and I am weary with grief. We have lost so much."

"We have." Almyra agreed, placing a hand upon Guyles' leather pauldron and her other upon Kelsea's bare shoulder. "But we have won. We will bury the dead, and remember their deeds. For now let them rest, for Gosvin has granted them the peace of his eternal warmth. May we all be so lucky as they to meet him in such splendor." Kelsea had felt Almyra's fingers gently squeeze upon her collarbone, the tips of them trailing across her skin like a lover's caress. She could not help but notice the long look her copper eyes held her with, the subtle glow that filled them when their gazes met.

Lying here in the darkness with sleep a distant, cherished memory, Kelsea reflected on all that had happened. Carl severely injured, the Harpy disappeared with him to Gods know where; the Outer Cloister a charred ruin, the Inner Cloister broken into pieces and filled with Demon corpses. And her: the other Succubus, whose burning eyes and vindictive smile had sent a chill down Kelsea's spine.

This is me. She'd thought in that first moment when comprehension dawned on the dreadful Demon's face and she recognized Kelsea as one of her own. In the hectic hours after the battle had ended, she had managed to push the worrisome thought from her mind. But now, barred from sleep by the nature of her affliction, the awful ideas returned. She longed for oblivion, to avoid having to think, to process her predicament.

Carl had burned. She had watched as he had done so, his lifeblood ebbing away even as she frantically patted at the flames. And then the dream - or was it a vision? - of Roland. That figure looming over him...

She was exhausted. Not in body, but in spirit. There was something wrong, something that dwelt within her still, despite the Priestess' healing cantrips administered earlier in the day - now so long ago. Holding tight to Roland, she felt something deeply wrong worming its way through her core, near her navel.

It was within her: that creeping sickness like a growing rot within her veins. If she overexerted herself, if she thought overlong about other things, unbecoming of her nature, that awful feeling would well up from within again. It was death: She could feel it inside of her, her body tingling, a growing numbness rising from her core. It scared her; she clung close to Roland's body, burying her head in his shoulder.

She longed for him. Even now, even after everything. Her body responded naturally to his presence, leaning her sexuality close to his core as her fingers absentmindedly trailed across his crotch. Were he not so deep in slumber, she might have honestly risked a mating session. As it was she could only softly stroke his soft manhood beneath the covers and whisper silent words of want into his ears, her breath blowing aside the trailing locks of red she loved so much.

"I'm here." She said, devoid of sound. Her fingers toyed with his hair. "I'm waiting for you."

Morning came with a glacial torpidity. The sunlight peeked through the high slats of the church and focused the light downwards, bringing Gosvin's glory into the room and filling it with trailing fingers of light. As soon as it began to brighten to an orange glow, a horde of sleepless villagers crowded the door, the only ones remaining prone upon the floor being those fortunate guards who had managed to collapse into a dreamless oblivion. Odds were against them awakening before noon.

Roland was the same. Despite her own desperate wish to remain with him, Kelsea's curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled away and rose to follow the crowd. He did not stir. Clad in a spare set of white villager's robes she had been gifted as a sort of mea culpa from the hitherto unfriendly townsfolk, she easily blended in with the crowd, bowing her head as she filed through the opening.

Wails and muffled screams arose immediately from the ones in front, and those near the back surged forward in both fear and morbid inquisitiveness. As Kelsea emerged out into the open air of the cloudless day, she saw the same scene that had so stricken the mournful villagers.

Their home had been laid to ruin. Smoke rose in tattered plumes from several directions, the white walls of the Inner Cloister only exacerbating the sights and smells of destruction. There had been some meager effort to clear the bodies, but only those of the slain Guardsmen. They were laid out in a long line before the collapsed bonfire, their dark cloaks used as makeshift blankets to cover their mortal wounds. The accursed Imps were left where they fell, like slashed blades of grass cut with a reaper's scythe.

Kelsea's stomach turned when she saw the result. In the night it had been nightmarish, but in the full light of day the horrow had compounded. Most of the villagers streamed towards their slain relatives. The Succubus skirted the crowd, doing her best to avoid getting in the way as she made her way around the outer perimeter of the Cloister's circular innards. In the full light of the morning she could at last make out the true beauty of the assembled churches, laid out in a perfect octagonal angle. They were a welcome contrast to the grimness of the world all around.

The Church of the God of Fire and of blessed Mankind was on the left side of the southern gate. Its exterior was as warmly welcoming as its interior: a wide-mouthed hall of human creation, a leftover of ancient architecture not yet influenced by the other, older races. Its tall reach and sloping ceilings recalled the great halls the old tribes had used when the Age of Fire had first arrived. The Priest-Lords had built such singular edifices high in the foothills, away from the dominion of the older, stronger races. Over time, the sheer destructive power of their God's spells laid to waste the great empires of the Elves and Dwarves, and drove the divided Beastfolk north beyond the Magelands. Its overwhelming size in comparison to the other, smaller churches bespoke the power of Gosvin as the self-proclaimed King of the Gods.