Not A White Knight
Chapter Ten
Pollock
There. To the right. I sense Cali. Steering the stallion, I veer in that direction, weaving through the trees and over the dead earth of The Felled Fields, that part that butts up against the dry plains.
There is clear evidence of earthquakes here.
The land has shifted and split apart. Gaping wounds have torn open the ground.
Most are narrow enough for the stallion to vault, but at times the earth crumbles at the edges and falters beneath his hooves.
Thankfully, the speed we maintain keeps us from slipping into one of the fractures.
Through the trees ahead, Cali’s ghostly figure stands against the backdrop of dark, scorched trunks. She hasn’t ventured any closer to the woman, but they face one another. The woman is back on her feet, dusting herself off.
The moment the little witch hears my approach, she bolts toward Calixis.
This is when my longtime companion decides to let the female see her for what she truly is.
Her visage changes. Her coloring and hide brighten, as do her eyes.
Her divinity, which grants her the ability to move through planes of existence, manifests.
As an Aetherion, her wrath-like essence billows off her more solid form, insubstantial wisps of ether trailing from her like smoke.
Her eyes are remnants of the unearthly holy fire from which she was created and the vapor from the waters she was birthed from.
The same fire in which divine weapons are forged, which are then cooled in the same sacred waters that gifted my brothers and me new life by God’s will.
The transformation stops the woman short.
I leap from the stallion’s back. Landing in a crouch, I plant both boots into the cracked earth as I draw Luxor, my great blade, from its sheath at my side.
As I stand, I allow the facade of my human form to fall away.
Not my wings, but the rest emerges. With a single thought, the black shirt and leather vest dissolve, replaced by a white cloak embroidered with silver symbols and the divine armor that settles across my shoulders like remembered skin.
The crown I wear is weightless physically, but the burden of it is as heavy as the task before me.
A token from God. And an indication of my station in the order of Heaven. Not merely one of his soldiers, but a commander of His army, and one of four Chosen to deliver man’s final day of reckoning.
Overall, the change is a welcome relief.
My power, at full strength once more, settles back into its rightful place within me, sending a quiet ripple of pleasure through my body.
For too long, I have caged it, shackled myself to conform to the ideals of men—to protect their fragile minds so that I may stand among them to lead them.
My outer cloak rests over my shoulders, clasped at the throat by a silverlite medallion. The same divine essence that wafts from Cali now trails from my cloak. I cast the edges aside as I stand at my full height and face the woman who, for some asinine reason, has made herself my adversary.
Her iridescent light-green eyes are fixed on me. Her expression is tempered, but fierce.
She will not be able to see past the void beneath my hood to meet my gaze, seeing as no light can penetrate the shadowed veil unless I will it to do so. But damn, does she try. Her gaze remains steady, unyielding, even when I take measured steps toward her, and she begins to retreat.
You devious little witch.
I project my awareness toward her to see if, at this distance, she can hear me.
There is an almost imperceptible flinch, and her eyes flash with malice.
Hmm. Interesting.
She takes several steps back as I prowl forward.
Will she run? Does she believe herself capable of escaping my wrath?
You can try to flee from me, but you won’t succeed.
She doesn’t. She simply moves away from the cracked earth onto more sturdy, unbroken ground, then unclasps her mask, letting it drop to the dirt at her feet. My guess is that it hinders her breathing, based on the deep inhales she takes to steady herself.
Digging the toes of her boots into the soil, she reaches behind her and withdraws twin blades from her back. She thrust them outward, blades down, as she prepares to face me.
Her white hair falls across her face. Her heavy breaths blow a few strands away from her lips, but the rest curl stubbornly around her features. Freckles stand stark against the pale canvas of her skin and gather in a cluster over the bridge of her pert nose.
She wears minimal armor, only enough to protect her weak points and vital organs. A small chest piece. No chainmail. No gauntlets or leg braces, which is foolish of her. Losing a limb can be just as deadly as a blade to the chest.
Her worn black cloak is sun-bleached, with layers of muted red and brown garments beneath. Her trousers appear to be animal hide—tight and worn at the knees. Boots rise high along her calves, and the belt at her waist carries a cache of weapons.
Blades, mostly.
As I close the distance, she shrugs the cloak from her shoulders and lets it fall, freeing her movement. With the sweep of her forearm, she clears the hair from her face.
I pause long enough to soothe Calixis as I pass, running a gloved and gauntleted hand along her flank. She relaxes beneath my touch, her head turning to nuzzle sweetly into my shoulder. Smoke trails from her nostrils in a sharp huff, as though she disapproves of the entire affair.
In truth, so do I.
But not entirely.
I have wanted a closer look at this strange creature who has remained so elusive.
I was prepared to use any means necessary to lure her to me and capture her.
Yet here she stands. She has delivered herself on a platter and drawn me beyond the city walls so that I might face her as I truly am and not behind the false visage I wear among men.
She’s done all of the work for me, it would seem. I have half a mind to ask why, but one must not look a gift horse in the mouth, as my mother would say.
I’m curious, though…
In her little mind, does she imagine this differently? That she is the hunter and I am the prey?
Oh, Little One. What a vivid imagination you have.
Condescension leaks from my tone. Is there a scenario in your little mind where you think this ends well for you?
Because if so, I have to say, you might be deluding yourself.
I very much doubt you understand the consequences of your actions.
And whatever ending you pictured here, I can guarantee this won’t go as planned.
If she believes this has not worked entirely in my favor, she is gravely mistaken.
With gritted teeth and another flinch, along with a slight widening of her green eyes, she moves, racing toward me with her blades raised.
I smile and pivot smoothly to the side. Both hands close around the pommel of Luxor as I meet her attack with one of my own.
Our blades collide.
Steel screams against steel as she presses her advantage. I do not reveal the full extent of my strength. I give her only enough—testing her power in return.
She is more than a foot shorter than I am. Yet the force she channels through that small frame should not be possible.
She locks my blade with her right one and swings for me with the left one. I deflect it with the brace covering my forearm, the impact ringing up through the bone. Then I drive forward and force her back three steps.
She recovers quickly and retreats only long enough to swing again.
I duck her first sweep—the blade meant to separate my head from my shoulders—and spin, planting my elbow hard between her shoulder blades. The strike sends her stumbling forward.
“If you wished to make my acquaintance, a greeting would have sufficed. We could have begun on far better terms, wouldn’t you say?”
She turns.
A glacial look settles over her small features.
A chuckle escapes me.
I like that expression. She looks murderous.
It’s very becoming on her face. Dare I say, sexy even. Like a vengeful little sprite. Or a young Valkyrie, though little remains now of them but myth.
The battle with me she’s searching for comes then. It’s not an attack. It’s an onslaught of attacks in rapid succession. She feigns and spins, uses her speed, flexibility, and dexterity to try to take me unawares. She’s seeking an opening in my armor, searching for weaknesses to exploit.
It is, honestly, the most enjoyable fight I’ve had in ages.
I parry. Redirect. Meet her blade for blade. Steel clashes in sharp, ringing bursts that scatter one lone black crow from a distant tree. It squawks in outrage as it takes flight.
We move around the break in the forest, circling one another as she searches for another opportunity to strike.
“Must we do this?” I ask lightly. “Surely exchanging words and resolving whatever grievance you have would be easier—and far less bloody.”
“Shut up.”
It is the first time she has spoken to me.
Her voice—real, warm, edged in fury—settles into me with surprising satisfaction. It matches the soft, sultry cadence I have long heard in my mind when she condemns me as a dishonest snake.
I quite enjoy hearing it beyond my own thoughts.
“Why? Are you afraid of the pull I might have over you if I continue to speak?”
Her blade darts for my side, forcing me to quickly twist away. It would not kill me, but the sting and momentary pain before my flesh knits itself whole is something I prefer to avoid.
“Put down the blade, Dove.”
For a heartbeat, I nearly call her White Witch—the name I have given her in my thoughts for years—but it no longer fits. Innocence bleeds from her in ways I had not expected. The anger burning in her mind feels forced, cultivated, as though she believes she should hate me.
But why?
Where does that belief stem from?
“Not until I cut your serpent tongue from your filthy mouth.”
I grin.
Heaven’s Gate… her rage is an aphrodisiac.
“That sounds exceedingly unpleasant. Surely, seeing as we have only just met, you do not truly mean it.”
“I mean every word, Devil.”
“That would be my brother.” He is as close to the Devil walking among us as there is. “I think you may have us confused.”
“I don’t care which one you are, as long as you’re no longer breathing.”
“Do you intend to kill us all, then?”
“Yes.”
We fight on. She grunts and huffs in frustration each time I deflect her strikes.
She is skilled. Has been artfully trained. But she’s nowhere near capable of killing any of us. Why she’s so determined to try is what interests me most.
That is why I ended the game.
I need answers more than I need sport.
Preferably, while her mind isn’t fully occupied with chopping off my head.
A flash of triumph almost touches her lips as she prepares to drive her blade into my chest. It is very gentlemanly of me, I know, to allow her to revel in a moment of false hope. But I do it just the same.
Mid-rush to impale me, I sweep her leg and send her stumbling to her knees.
She is already twisting to recover, blades lifting, but my arm bands around her waist, trapping both of her arms against her sides. Her blades hang uselessly by her thighs as I draw her back against me. I lift Luxor and slide the edge to the hollow at her throat.
My chest burns with a different kind of heat when she’s captive against my much larger frame and completely at my mercy.
“Now,” I murmur near her ear, “if you would stop for one blissful moment and listen, little one, you might learn that I have no wish to harm you as you do me. But continue fighting, and your measly human life will end here and now. Is that what you want? To die?”
Her body is small and warm. Her curves, unnoticeable beneath all that fabric, are far more obvious with her pressed flush against me. Every slight twitch and labored breath I feel on a level that is, to be honest, quite disturbing in the best of ways.
My body responds to her proximity against my will. I have to make a conscious effort to tamp down the dark and heady desires rising within me.
“Do you yield?”
Her thoughts churn. I sense defiance, but her words ease the tension a heartbeat later.
“Yes. For now.”
That’s a good girl.
At my declaration, she struggles anew and tries to break free. But I hold firm as a wicked grin splits across my face. Leaning forward slightly, I draw in a slow breath, finally taking in the scent I have imagined for far too many nights.
My voice lowers, roughened. “I hope you had nothing important to see to, because your outlook for the foreseeable future is looking quite bleak.”
“What? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, little dove, that you’re coming with me.”
There are matters I need to see to, city problems to resolve, and I have many questions in need of answering. Her willingness to give me the answers I seek will determine whether she walks beside me—or not at all.
It seems we have a few things to work through, and her compliance will earn her leniency. Her disobedience, the opposite.