Gehrak watched sullenly as the cultists of Dak’hra patrolled the deck of the Sea Serpent. Hindor was now shackled behind her in place of Laisha, who had been taken inland with the mercenaries hours before. With their captain at sword point, the pirates of the Serpent had not resisted the cultists, and had been imprisoned below decks along with Gehrak’s own girls. Gehrak estimated a dozen women had been left behind to guard the ship. She pondered on why they had been left here rather than brought inland, and could only conclude Arasha and Coral intended to leave the island at some point once more, and would need a ship and crew. Perhaps there was a hope she could ride this out and make a bid for freedom once the ship neared the mainland?

Cheered by such thoughts, she stared at the cultists with interest. Physically unassuming, although they had fought with strength and courage during the preceding battle, they wore little more than their black loincloths, leaving their pale-skinned limbs, bellies and breasts bared under the vicious sun. Tattoos adorned their faces and stomachs, and their long spears were decorated with carved sigils and scraps of furs and bone.

As a cultist passed her, Gehrak whistled to get the girl’s attention. Scowling, the cultist came up close, her spear levelled, it’s tip close to the pirate captain’s navel. Gehrak squirmed as she eyed the weapon, but smiled widely into the cultist’s impassive face.

‘Listen. I’ve got nothing to do with these people, alright? I was tied up here when you came aboard, remember? You let me go, and I’ll take charge of this ship, and take you wherever it is you want to go. How about it?’

The cultist brought her spear back, pausing for a second before slamming the weapon’s butt low in Gehrak’s guts. Winded, the pirate doubled over, choking for breath, her bare breasts flailing. As the cultist stalked off to continue her rounds, Hindor chuckled from the other side of the mainsail.

‘Nice try, Gehrak, but you’re in this as deep as anyone. Deeper, in fact. I think they know you brought those two assassins when you followed us.’

‘Quiet!’ Gehrak snarled over her shoulder at the bald-headed bosun as she finally got her breath back. ‘At least I’m trying to do something. You seem content to just stand here and let it all happen. Do you not have a mind of your own when your precious captain isn’t around?’

Hindor made to reply, but fell silent suddenly. Gehrak craned her neck. She’d heard it too; a muffled cry and a scrabbling sound against deck planking. Frowning, the two pirates stared towards the source of the noise, a section of the deck massed with ropes and barrels. As they watched, a slim figure stepped carefully into view, a freshly blooded, long-bladed knife held ready. The girl was Ippanese, virtually identical to the cultists of Dak’hra except that her loincloth was of a lighter hue, and her tattoos were subtly different. She raised a finger to her lips and slipped back into cover, just as another cultist appeared on the opposite side of the deck. She stared at the pirates in suspicion, but as another muffled cry sounded from further down the deck, she gasped and raised her spear. She had no more time to prepare as a slim figure stepped out behind her, dragging her back and bringing a knife down across her exposed throat. The cultist died with a wet groan, blood spraying from her split neck, her eyes staring up at the crimson fount spewing from her throat. Her body hit the deck limp, and as the rest of the cultists emerged from below deck, alarmed by the sounds of their dying comrades, suddenly the deck of the Serpent was plunged into battle once more, albeit desperately one-sided.

An Ippanese assassin threw a thin-bladed knife expertly, not even watching as the weapon flipped end over end before sinking into the throat of a screaming cultist. The woman went down, scrabbling at her throat, her spear clattering against the deck. Another cultist closed on an attacker, jabbing with her weapon. The assassin she faced ducked aside, coming in close to bury her knife into the other girl’s yielding belly. The cultist slumped with a groan, clutching to where her innards bulged from the tear in her stomach.

With half their number already killed by the stealthy assassins, the remaining cultists panicked. One held the attackers away with a spear as she backed across the deck, shouting warnings at the two girls who stalked her. As she came close to Gehrak, the pirate swung her legs up high, clamping her calves on either side of the cultist’s head and twisting with a grunt. The cultist’s neck crunched satisfyingly, and her suddenly lifeless body crumpled loosely. Gehrak shouted in excitement, delighted by this unexpected assault on their captors.

A cultist let out ragged cry and clutched her naked breast, as a knife-blade sliced open her soft flesh. The assassin followed up by ramming the weapon deep into the cultist’s navel, holding the dying woman aloft as she let out a shuddering sigh and sagged in the arms of her killer. Seeming to enjoy the kill, the assassin let the woman drop to the deck, not noticing that another cultist was coming up behind her, face twisted in fear but spear held ready.

‘Look out!’ Gehrak cried, but the spear was already moving. A fraction of a second before it would have plunged into the assassin’s flesh, the cultist’s body was whipped around as an arrow slammed into the side of her skull. Her eyes popped wide, and Gehrak gasped as she saw the arrow had impaled her head totally, its gory tip emerging from just above her left ear.

The battle was over as quickly as it had begun, and as the assassins checked the bodies of the freshly slaughtered cultists, Gehrak watched with interest as the woman who had fired the arrow stepped into view. She looked somewhat familiar.

‘Captain Rahma?’ Gehrak stared at the woman who came up close to her, grinning from ear to ear. Even without her intricate armour, the tall guard captain was unmistakable.

‘Well, well,’ Rahma chuckled. ‘Gehrak! Looks like this trip is going to be very fruitful.’

*****

The lifeless cultists were dragged from the deck, bloody stains smearing the planking in their wake. To Gehrak’s surprise, Rahma chopped through her manacles and released the pirate captain and Hindor. Rubbing her chaffed wrists, Gehrak thanked her hesitantly, then tied the scraps of her shredded blouse together to cover her nakedness.

‘A long way from your usual haunts, aren’t you, captain Rahma? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, all things considered.’

‘We’ve got no time for you pathetic attempts at banter, Gehrak,’ Rahma told her. ‘I believe you know Koto, your former employer?’

Gehrak blinked in surprise as she saw the Ippanese woman walk up to stand beside the guard captain. ‘I do. And I’m pleased to see you, Koto. You still owe me money.’

‘We’re in the middle of something that goes beyond petty matters such as your payment, Gehrak,’ Rahma told her icily.

Gehrak eyed Rahma shrewdly. ‘How about the petty matter of the bounty on my head? I’m starting to think you’re about to ask for my help, Captain, so let’s get a few things sorted from the outset, eh?’

Rahma scowled. ‘You know what’s going on here?’

‘I’ve picked most of it up. Two religious cults are based in these islands. The cult of Dak’hra and preparing to bring their God back from the void by means of a blood sacrifice. Their old enemy, the cult of Keba, is trying to stop them. I suppose the pertinent question is: what happens if Dak’hra is allowed to return?’ Gehrak glanced at Koto.

‘He will be all powerful, and the dark stain of his evil will spread across the whole world and beyond,’ the assassin said glumly.

Gehrak grinned at Rahma. ‘There you have it. I see you’ve brought a few of your girls with you, Rahma, and Koto seems to have found some more sisters – although they all look alike to me. You haven’t got enough bodies to mount an attack on these cultists, though. From what I saw they’re about two to three hundred strong.’

‘You want me to drop all charges against you, Gehrak, is that it?’

‘In return, you’ll have me and my girls, along with Macha’s, to bolster your little army.’

‘Don’t I get a say in this?’ Hindor said sourly from behind Gehrak. The pirate captain turned and clapped an arm around the bosun’s shoulders.

‘Of course you do, Hindor. I need a good second in command.’

Rahma shook her head in disgust. ‘Very well, Gehrak, you’ll get you pardon. If you live through this, that is.’ She grudgingly took Gehrak’s proffered hand.

‘One of your better decisions, Rahma.’ Gehrak peered around the deck with interest, as more cultists and city guards appeared. The latter had abandoned all bar their lightest armour, but all looked like strong warriors. Gehrak had encountered captain Rahma’s guards before, and knew how important it was to keep as far from them as possible. A thought struck her. ‘How did you get here, Rahma? And, more importantly, why are you here?’

‘I came here following a murderer from Kafara,’ Rahma said. ‘At Carador, we manned a vessel that took us as far as a nearby island, where we encountered Koto and her sisters. They obviously knew potential allies when they saw them. Regardless of our mission, what Koto told me convinced me we had to assist.’

Koto raised an eyebrow. ‘We were desperate, and needed to take a chance. I have fewer than thirty women, not enough to mount an attack. Captain Rahma here has twenty more, and all are skilled warriors.’

‘And she has us, of course.’ Lameta appeared beside Rahma, her knife-blade wet with blood. The last two whores from Syrus’ brothel stood beside her. Rahma sneered at the women, but introduced them.

‘Street filth we picked up in Kafara. Annoying, but they have their uses. This is Lameta, and her fellows Fera and Myra.’

Gehrak nodded to the thieves. ‘Very well. Myself, Hindor, and perhaps four-score girls imprisoned below gives us a fair number. But we’ll need a plan. Do we know where this sacrifice will occur?’

Reluctantly, Koto shook her head.

‘I can take you there.’

Rahma cursed and spun, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword. A squat, hard-faced woman with cropped hair was heaving herself aboard, alighting onto the deck gracefully despite her bulk. By Rahma’s side, Lameta hissed in anger.

‘You! You were with Jina when that gladiator bitch slaughtered Syrus and my sisters!’

Inga chuckled humourlessly. ‘I killed two of your sisters myself, slut.’

Lameta made to lunge at Inga, but Rahma shot out a hand and gripped the street thief’s shoulder. Grimacing in pain, Lameta sagged to the deck.

‘Not yet, Lameta.’ Rahma eyed Inga speculatively. ‘If you were there that night, you can count yourself under arrest. We can sort that out later. For now, what is your part in what is happening here?’

‘I’ve been playing the damn fool, that’s been my part,’ Inga growled. ‘Only now I can see that I’ve been used, and what is happening at the temple troubles me. I want no part in human sacrifices.’

‘Who’s been sacrificed?’ Hindor said fearfully, ‘Does Captain Macha still live?’

Inga nodded. ‘For now. She, Jina and another pirate will be the last to die before Ninoor. Their blood, apparently, is the strongest.’

Rahma nodded. ‘Very well. You can lead us there, and provided we can use the element of surprise effectively, we might have a chance to stop this.’

*****

By the time light began to fade, the sacrificial chamber was beginning to fill with cultists. Amidst their chanting and dancing, the tattooed women leered through the cage bars at Jina and her fellow prisoners.

‘Great,’ Macha said sourly, ‘A fat lot of good that key does us. Every minute that passes brings more cultists, and for all we know we could be dragged out and gutted at any minute.’

‘If you are suggesting the five of us tackle these cultists alone, you’re mad,’ Jina muttered, ‘Our chance will come. Look out for it.’

Macha snorted, and turned her head as the large temple doors opened once more. She groaned as Hinra entered once more. ‘This is it,’ she said dismally.

‘I don’t think so,’ Laisha said, peering through the bars as six young women were dragged into the chamber in the High Priestess’s wake, ‘Aren’t those some of Ninoor’s handmaids?’

The six young girls were dragged to the bloody frames ringing the dais pit, where their vestments were ripped from their bodies. They squirmed naked, unable to break free of their captors as the cultists secured them to the sacrificial frames. From where she still struggled atop the altar, Ninoor watched with wide eyes. Hinra stood by the shackled noblewoman, chanting loudly, her knife raised high.

‘I’m not watching this,’ Macha muttered and turned away, but Jina could not tear her eyes from the scene, although she knew what was coming. Their blades drawn, the cultists stepped close to their captives, waiting until Hinra’s chant reached its climax before driving their weapons deep into yielding flesh. Shrieks of pain rose above the tribal drums and chanting, and the cultists’ excitement reached fever pitch as the second cuts were made, and blood and entrails once more spilled into the abyss.

Squirming, mouths agape, the handmaids could only watch their innards spill free. As the first quivering, slimy gobbets of flesh drooled into the pit’s gaping maw, the temple shook once more, harder even than before.

‘Dak’hra hungers!’ Hinra screamed, eliciting shouts of frenzy from her followers. ‘He knows his faithful servants await. He has fed on strong blood, and now he has fed on innocent blood. He knows the purest blood of the ancient will soon be spilled. Rejoice, sisters! Our time is at hand!’

As her cultists released the lifeless handmaids from their bonds, kicking the flaccid, naked bodies into the abyss, Hinra leered down at Ninoor, enjoying the woman’s squirms and moans of fear. The High Priestess’s eyes lingered over Ninoor’s pale, perfect skin, and her hand dropped to slip over one marble thigh.

‘Yesss,’ she hissed, ‘You are the purest vessel. What was it like? How did it feel when Dak’hra was within you? The merest tendril of his will had you imprisoned, your own spirit crushed. Arasha tells me your appetite was insatiable; that you took her and Coral again and again, exhausting even them! How I would have liked to have been with you then. You would have found me more of a challenge.’

Ninoor stared back at the woman above her, her eyes wide. ‘Pl. . . please! Let me g. . . go!’

Hinra laughed, her hand slipping up Ninoor’s thigh, fingers slipping into her hugging warmth. Ninoor gasped, her hips bucking as Hinra breathed heavily, laying her blade on the altar to clutch her own breast and knead the firm flesh roughly, pinching her erect nipple between her fingers. She didn’t even hear Coral entering the chamber, until the duellist ran up to her and gripped her shoulder. She spun, her hand whipping out to strike Coral, who staggered back under the blow. Dropping to her knees, the duellist clutched her cheek, fingering the moist stain the High Priestess’s slap had left.

‘How dare you grab me! What is the meaning of this interruption?’ Hinra glowered down at Coral as she stammered her explanation, and her face twisted in disbelief. ‘What do you mean, the temple is under attack?’

*****

Minutes earlier, the cultists’ village had been silent. With most of their number in or around the vast temple that was the centrepiece of their commune, the palisade gatehouses had only been manned by a half-dozen women.

Composed of stout timbers, the palisade fence was five metres high, topped with sharpened stakes. It bridged the gap between two towering cliff faces, effectively blocking the only entrance into the village from the surrounding jungle. Within the gates, the ground rose towards the temple, thick with huts and grass-roofed dwellings, where the cultists made their homes.

Like the temple on the island of Keba, the temple of Dak’hra spoke of a bygone time, an era of lavish beauty and dark sacrifice. It rose high, dwarfing the trees that clustered at its sides, its dark façade clotted with creeper and vine. Its vast central doors were flanked by rows of ornate pillars, and a dozen temple guards patrolled restlessly, wishing they could be present at the ritual within.

Darkness was falling. Captain Rahma eyed the skies before shuffling back into cover, where Gehrak, Inga and Koto were waiting. ‘Six on the gates,’ she reported quietly, ‘They look lazy and bored. Picking them off would not be a problem, but short of bashing those gates in, I don’t see how we can gain entry. If we don’t get in quick, those gatehouses will have cultists all over them within a minute, raining arrows down on top of us.’

Gehrak nodded towards the gates. ‘Looks like your travelling companions are up to something, captain.’

Rahma swore as she saw Lameta and her two companions nimbly scaling the palisade wall below the gatehouses. ‘Damn their eyes!’ She turned to gesture to Zeta, and as her second in command scuttled eagerly forward, Rahma gave her orders.

‘We’ll have to make the best of it. If those sluts actually succeed in opening the gates, lead our girls and the pirates in a charge. Keep to the right, and try to draw the cultists from the temple. Keep them busy as long as you can. Hindor, you go with her. Myself, Gehrak and Inga, together with Koto and her sisters, will try to get around the left to the temple.’

‘Why not just attack en masse?’ Gehrak asked.

Koto answered for the guard captain. ‘The ritual to raise Dak’hra should reach its climax at midnight. However, regardless of Hinra’s day-long rituals, all it takes is Ninoor’s blood to be spilled, and Dak’hra will be freed. If Hinra suspects her temple is about to fall, she’ll kill her right there and then. If we can get in and stop her, we have a chance.’

‘What if Lameta and her whores don’t get the gates open?’ Zeta asked.

‘Then we storm the gates and beat them down,’ Rahma said grimly, ‘while keeping the palisade free of cultists with arrow fire.’

Zeta nodded, shuffling back to give her orders to the rag-tag army of guardswomen and pirates. Hindor moved to join her, but Gehrak reached out to grip her shoulder.

‘I know you’re good in a fight, Hindor,’ the pirate said quietly, ‘I’ve told my girls to obey your orders as they would mine. Don’t let them down. Don’t let me down.’

Hindor grinned savagely. ‘Don’t you worry, Gehrak. I’ve led sea-sluts into battle all my life.’

Gehrak slapped the bald-headed woman’s shoulder as she scurried away, then turned to watch with Rahma what was happening atop the palisade fence.

*****

The cultists in the rightmost gatehouse were unprepared for a stealthy assault. As Lameta reared up into view, they gasped and clutched for their spears, but the street-thief’s hand was already raised, a gleaming knife-blade shining. Her hand flickered forward, and a cultist gurgled and clutched at her throat, slumping to the floor with blood spilling from the sides of her mouth. Lameta tumbled into the gatehouse, her other hand flicking out, and a weighted bolt of cloth whipped out to ensnare the weapon of a second cultist. The woman gasped, and Lameta tugged her in close, another knife already in hand to stab deep into the cultist’s belly. The woman groaned as she felt the razor-sharp blade shear into her guts, then rip sideways. Warm entrails spilled over her crotch and thighs, and she dropped scrabbling at her sundered stomach.

The last cultist stabbed with a cry of rage, and Lameta swung one supple leg high, sweeping the incoming weapon aside. The cultist was knocked off balance, and before she could recover herself, the street-thief dived in close, her bloody knife ramming deep into the other woman’s breast. The cultist gaped as the blade sank into her naked flesh, skewering her heart and killing her instantly. She sagged, and Lameta twisted her knife before ripping it free, taking a second to wipe the blade on the woman’s pale flesh as she eyed the cultist village below, before the lifeless body slipped through her arms to crumple against the wooden planking.

A thud from her left made her turn to see how Fera and Myra were faring against the other three guards in the second gatehouse. Fera was a black-skinned girl with plaited hair and almond eyes. She wore only a leather thong and sandals in battle, as she was now. She gripped a cultist’s spear shaft to stop the woman’s thrust, then stepped in close to bury her dagger between her foe’s ribs. The cultist groaned and shuddered, collapsing to her knees, unable to resist as Fera wrenched the blade free and swept it across her throat. By Fera’s side, Myra battled a second cultist. Her brown hair tied in a long ponytail, Myra was a delicate looking girl with pale skin and a wide-eyed look of innocence. She wore an opaque shift and calf boots, and used a long, curved scimitar as a weapon. She used this now to slash open her opponent’s breasts, and as the woman moaned and staggered, hands clasped to her wounds and blood squirting from between her clutching fingers, a second slash took her head from her shoulders. The body crumpled, blood hosing from its stumped neck.

The last cultist made to scream an alarm, but the two thieves were on her in an instant. Myra’s blade sliced into her navel, and as the cultist doubled over with a pained grunt, Fera’s bloody knife stabbed into the side of her neck. Her eyes widened and she gurgled on blood, her hands fluttering as she slumped to the bloody floor to join her fellows, her legs kicking weakly in her death throes.

Lameta gestured to her companions. They had done their job quickly and quietly, but time was of the essence. It would only be seconds before they would be discovered, as there were a number of cultists in and around the area inside the gates. The left gate held the wheel used to raise the huge wooden bar that secured the gates, and as Fera and Myra began to heave on the wheel, Lameta hurriedly claimed one of the guards’ bows and a quiver. She was no expert with a bow, but good enough at this range.

As soon as the heavy bar across the gates began to rise, cries of alarm sounded from nearby. Two cultists emerged from a hut just inside the village grounds, spears held ready. Lameta drew a bead on the first girl and let her arrow fly. The cultist threw her arms up and screamed as a feathered shaft pinned her between her bare breasts. She staggered back into the side of the hut, pitching aside to crumple lifeless, the arrow’s tip through her heart.

The second cultist gasped, her eyes flitting from her fallen friend to Lameta. Her second’s hesitation was all Lameta needed to nock another arrow and send it flying true, and the cultist’s head snapped back as the arrow drilled her between the eyes. She dropped lifeless, limbs splayed and twitching, her eyes crossed on the shaft wedged between them.

Fera and Myra strained as they heaved on the gatewheel. The heavy bar lifted quickly, but just as it was about the clear the gap between the doors, a loud buzz and a thump made Fera cry out and arch her back. Myra gasped as her face was suddenly splattered with blood, and she stared aghast to where a bloody arrow tip emerged from her friend’s right breast. Fera’s wide eyes slowly dulled, and as she sagged over the gatewheel, Myra saw the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from her lower back.

Lameta cursed, shifting position to take a bead on the cultist archer who was already drawing back her bowstring, preparing to fire on Myra. Lameta loosed her bowstring first, and as her arrow sank low into the cultist’s side, sending the woman spinning with a scream, Lameta waved to where she knew Rahma would be watching.

The captain rose from the undergrowth, her arm raised as she shouted to her rag-tag army. ‘Get moving! Get in there and start the slaughter!’

Within seconds, scores of pirates and city guards were spilling from the undergrowth, yelling their excitement as they charged the palisade gates. Myra leaned on the gatewheel with all her weight, gasping in relief as the heavy wooden bar finally cleared the gap between the two gates. She swiftly hitched the gatewheel, taking a second to touch Fera’s face in farewell before grabbing a bow and moving to the gatehouse’s inner edge, where a ladder led down to the ground. Like Lameta in the opposite gatehouse, she readied her bow and waited for a target.

There were plenty. Although the majority of the cultists were inside the temple, Hinra had left two-score women to protect the gates. They swarmed from the huts nearest to the gatehouses, shouting in alarm and hefting their bows and spears. The two thieves opened fire, and cultists staggered screaming in pain as arrows plunged deep into their flesh. One of the women stumbled with a curse against the side of her hut, fingers clawing at the arrow wedged in her breast. As she slumped sideways, one of her companions raised her bow and fired, and Lameta ducked as the missile thudded into her gatehouse’s wooden frame. She singled out the woman who had fired upon her, sighting in and releasing an arrow that flew true into the cultist’s belly. The woman yelped and fell back, legs kicking. She landed sprawled on the body of her comrade, and the two women squirmed in their death throes together.

Then, the pirates swarmed through the open gates, and the cultists panicked, almost all turning to flee. A cultist blanched in fear, but raised her bow to send an arrow buzzing into the bare breast of a pirate girl. The girl yelled in pain and spun around, arms flailing before she crashed against the ground, but her companions fell upon the cultist within seconds, their cutlasses stabbing and slashing. The woman died, screaming shrilly as her bare flesh was split and sundered by flashing steel. Blood flew high, and she crumpled under the feet of the frenzied invaders.

Lameta sent a last arrow between the shoulder-blades of a fleeing cultist, watching in satisfaction as the woman threw up her arms and staggered on for moment before collapsing to lie sprawled and writhing. She dropped her bow, quickly shimmying down the ladder in time to meet Rahma as the guard captain back-pedalled through the gates, shouting encouragement to the pirates and her girls.

‘Get into them! Follow Hindor and Zeta, and take their orders! I expect nothing more than a score of enemy for each of my warriors!’

Gehrak appeared beside the captain. ‘Don’t ask a lot of your girls, do you?’ she said drily.

‘They know what I expect from them,’ Rahma growled. ‘Perhaps you would do better to bolster your own mercenary shower.’

‘I don’t need to. I told them that temple would be laden down with gold and jewels.’

‘It will be.’ Koto came up behind Rahma, her sisters at her back. ‘The cult of Dak’hra are renowned for hoarding wealth to please their God.’

‘Well, bugger me,’ Gehrak grinned, ‘There may be some good come out of this whole sorry affair yet.’

‘You can concern yourself with sacking the temple later,’ Rahma snapped, ‘Right now, we have a job to do.’ She watched Hindor and Zeta lead the combined force of pirates and guardswomen into the village proper, where the Sea Serpent’s bosun was already ordering her archers into defensive positions. They would let the enemy come to them, drawing as many as possible out of the temple. Rahma’s eyes took in the village. The bulk of the cultists huts were clustered against the sides of the cliff faces, with more open ground leading centrally from the gates to the temple. There would be enough cover to skirt the edge of the battle and hopefully get to the temple unnoticed. She waved her companions forward, leading the way to the left, and the side of the valley sheathed in shadow.

*****

Hindor ducked as an arrow buzzed overhead. Cultists were pouring from the temple gates to reinforce the remains of the gate guard. Bodies were sprawled over the grass, face down with arrows sticking from their backs and limbs, but now the Ippanese women were gathering their wits, forming rows of archers to send flights of arrows towards the invaders, and pirate girls were starting to die.

By her side, one of Gehrak’s girls staggered choking as an arrow impaled her through the throat. As the girl sprawled back, legs thrashing, blood hosing from her mouth, Hindor waved for the attackers to take cover.

‘Archers!’

At her call, her dozen best archers came forward, taking what cover they could beside the huts before returning fire. Cultists began to fall, and – as they realised they were exposed to the pirates’ fire – ducked for cover themselves.

From nearby, a wild cry announced a score of cultists breaking cover to charge the huddled pirate girls, their spears held high and their bare breasts flailing as they ran. Hindor’s archers swiftly turned their aim onto the charging women, and arrows buzzed to slam into flesh, tossing screaming women back loosely. A cultist reeled back, two arrows sprouting from her chest. By her side, another sagged as a shaft sliced into her groin. She groaned, clutching at her crotch until another arrow slammed into her eye and tossed her back, legs riding high as she hit the ground, blood spraying high into the air.

But the cultists’ charge brought them close to the archers, and more than one screamed in dismay as a spear was thrust deep into her body, A pirate girl turned to flee, her back arching as a spear tip impaled her, splitting from her left breast to release a torrent of blood over her blouse. The cultist who had killed her stepped on the pirate’s back as she tried to prise her weapon free, her savage grin of victory turning to a grimace of pain as an arrow took her beneath the right breast, making her bountiful flesh shudder before she slumped slowly over the body of her own victim.

The pirate archers staggered back, and for a second it looked like the cultist charge had been effective, but then Rahma’s guardswomen thundered into the battle, Zeta at their head, their swords and shields raised and ready. A cultist stabbed out in alarm as an armoured woman reared before her, but the guardswoman swept the primitive weapon aside in derision before stabbing her sword deep into the cultist’s belly. Pinioned onto the blade, the bloody tip of which had ripped from between her trembling buttocks, the cultist gaped down at her sundered belly wide-eyed, before the guard ripped the weapon free. The cultist spun away to drop with a yell, thick blood belching from her wounds.

Zeta shouted encouragement to her charges as she wet her own blade, ripping it through bare flesh and sending cultists spinning with cries of pain. She chopped at a spear shaft as it was thrust towards her, deflecting the weapon before stabbing low into its owner’s groin. Squealing, dark gore spraying from between her clutching fingers, the cultist fell back to squirm in agony.

The cultists were swiftly decimated. A whistling sword-blade split into a skull, pulping its victim’s brains. The unfortunate cultist crumpled without a sound, killed instantly, while some of her colleagues were not so fortunate. A cultist fell back as her arm spun free, yelling in fear as she clutched at her stumped shoulder. Beside her, another woman choked on blood as her throat was slashed. She dropped to writhe and kick against the bloody ground, eyes slowly rolling back in her head as her life ebbed away.

A cultist leaped over her dying sisters, shouting a prayer to Dak’hra as she lunged with her spear. The weapon slipped under a shield and deep into a guardswoman’s belly, and the warrior yelled in pain as she fell back, fingers scrabbling to where the shaft was wedged into her flesh. The cultist’s victory was short-lived, as a swordblade stabbed under her ribs, splicing through her heart. Blood bubbled on her lips as she sagged over the woman she had just killed, her buttocks clenching spastically as urine coursed down her inner thighs.

As the last cultist fell, a fresh rain of arrows buzzed through the air, and Zeta ducked with a curse as, on both sides of her, guardswomen staggered back with screams of pain. A blonde woman dropped to her knees, picking at the shaft buried low in her belly, until another sheared through her leather armour to pin her between the breasts. She toppled back, choking on thick blood. An arrow slammed into the upper chest of another guardswoman, who was plucked into the air and tossed back to land sprawled and panting, staring with wide eyes to where the impaling shaft jutted skyward.

Jumping into cover beside Hindor, Zeta gritted her teeth as arrows slapped into nearby huts, every once in a while finding the flesh of a screaming pirate girl. ‘How long are we expected to ride this out?’ she grumbled.

‘Just a little while longer,’ Hindor growled. She too did not like cowering in cover, but the cultists emerging from the temple were closing in, and every one that was drawn into the battle would mean less opposition for Rahma and her comrades.

*****

Jina and Macha exchanged glances as another group of guards were hurried from the chamber by Coral. The duellist cast the prisoners a sour look before spinning on her heel and following the cultists. Aside from Hinra and Arasha, only a dozen Ippanese warriors were now present.

Minutes earlier, Ninoor’s four remaining handmaids had been hustled into the chamber, and dragged to the huge censer at the far side of the dais. The prisoners had watched in horror as the first girl was leant back across the censer’s metallic hood, and a cultist had plunged a shortsword deep into her groin, splitting the blade up to open the girl’s belly. As she screamed in unimaginable pain, her innards had been removed to splatter into the censer. As the lifeless body was cast aside, the next girl squealed as she took her turn. Within minutes the censer had been filled with fresh, steaming entrails, and as a pair of cultists dragged the gutted bodies onto the dais to fling them carelessly into the pit, the censer had been lighted with oil, and four more cultists had strained and sweated to lever the device into position. Now it swung over the dais, chains rattling in their housings, greasy, stinking smoke curling and wisping before being sucked into the abyss. As fresh tremors began, Hinra had announced that the smell was pleasing to Dak’hra.

‘Best chance we’re going to get,’ Macha muttered, and Jina nodded. The High Priestess was chanting again, seemingly in a daze as she performed her ceremony. Arasha watched raptly, staying close to where Ninoor was still struggling weakly atop the altar. The subterranean tremors were softer now, but more frequent, and every once in a while the rush of fetid air from the abyss seemed more like the breath of something huge and unimaginably evil clawing its way to the surface. The sound chilled Jina, but she fumbled in her cleavage to fish out the heavy key Inga had passed her. She wondered briefly where the stocky warrior was. Was she responsible for the attack outside? Hoping that were true, Jina checked that she was not being watched before she slipped the key into the huge lock securing their cage and quickly unlocked it.

She glanced at her comrades; Macha and Laisha and the two black-skinned archers, whose names were Nera and Serama. She had seen her companions in battle, and knew they were formidable warriors, but the odds were against the five of them escaping with their lives. ‘I’m going for Ninoor,’ she said softly. Macha blinked in surprise, but Laisha nodded grimly. The archers glanced at each other for a moment before they too nodded.

‘Her blood will bring this . . . Dak’hra into the world,’ Laisha said. ‘I know not what this creature is, whether it be a God or whatever, but I value my freedom and will not be a slave while I can draw a breath.’

‘Suit yourselves,’ Macha muttered, ‘I’m heading for that door.’

‘Think for a moment, Macha,’ Jina said urgently, ‘Forget about Ninoor. Grab that High Priestess, however, and she could give us passage out of here.’

‘Good point,’ Macha mused thoughtfully, ‘And, come to think of it, with her as our hostage we could take the time to relieve this place of some of its treasures.’

Laisha rolled her eyes, but Jina grinned. ‘Very well. We’ll take these three guards first,’ she jerked her head to the closest of the cultists ringed around the dais, their bare backs to the cage, ‘then grab their weapons.’

As the warriors readied themselves, Jina glanced at Laisha, and the pitfighter met her gaze evenly. ‘Don’t worry, gladiator,’ she said sourly, ‘I haven’t forgotten our business, but you don’t have to worry about me burying a spear in your back. When I kill you, it’ll be face to face, and when we’ve gotten out of this mess.’

*****

Captain Rahma led the way around the simple huts that formed the perimeter of the cultists’ village. They were in the shadow of the cliffs, as far from the battle at the village’s centre as they could be. They kept low, but as Rahma hurried closer to the temple, a trio of cultists emerged from a nearby hut, gasping in surprise as they saw the intruders.

Rahma reared up, her sword stabbing deep into the first woman’s chest. She grunted in astonished pain, staring down to where the sword-blade sank between her full breasts. As she sank to the ground with a final sigh, her sisters were dying also.

Inga moved faster than her bulk should have allowed, slamming her axe spike into the belly of the second cultist. The woman doubled over with a yelp, clutching at the weapon’s huge blades as Inga bore her to the ground and twisted the axe cruelly. The third cultist gaped soundlessly as Koto’s knife slashed open her throat. Gripping the crimson gash, she stumbled back against the side of the hut, sinking slowly, her blood pumping thickly through her clutching fingers.

‘You all seem to be enjoying this stuff far too much, you know,’ Gehrak grumbled.

‘Quiet,’ Rahma hissed. ‘Archers. We’ve been spotted.’

Nimble shapes were flitting between the huts up ahead, a dozen cultists who had spotted the intruders slaughtering their sisters. They scurried into positions where they could cover the paths to the temple, although one of the girls made off towards the main body of cultists, to warn her sisters the intruders were flanking them.

‘Damn it!’ Rahma twisted to address Koto. ‘Can those girls of your fire those bows?’

The assassin looked affronted. ‘Of course they can!’ She waved six of her sisters forward, and the slender, pale-skinned archers swiftly surged forward to take the best cover they could as they prepared to fire on the enemy. The cultists of Dak’hra opened fire, and Rahma ducked as an arrow whizzed overhead. She waved the others back, frowning as she noticed two of her number were missing.

‘Where the hell are Lameta and that other slut?’

*****

Lameta waited until the cultist was almost directly below her before she dropped from the roof of the hut to land before the woman. Skidding to a halt, the cultist gasped and made to raise her bow, but Lameta stepped forward and plunged her blade into the other woman’s bare breast, piercing her heart. The cultist grunted, sagging in Lameta’s arms. Pulling the blade free of lifeless flesh, Lameta enjoyed the warm blood pumping over her thigh for a moment before letting the body drop. She signalled to Myra. Still on the rooftops, Myra gestured animatedly and Lameta frowned. She had silenced the cultist who had been heading for reinforcements, but it seemed more of the enemy were approaching anyway.

She didn’t have time to get into cover before three cultists rounded a nearby hut and cried out in alarm. One held back, her bow raised, while the other two lowered their spears and charged. Lameta cursed, back-pedalling away from the women to give herself room to fight. As a spear-tip stabbed towards her face, she dodged to one side, punishing the weapon’s owner with a swift kick in the side. The cultist grunted and staggered, her breasts flailing as she doubled over. Her sister lunged at Lameta, feinting before slamming her weapon’s blunt end into Lameta’s chest. Hissing in pain, the street-thief reeled back, holding her knife low and making sure she kept the enemy girl between her and the waiting archer, who had already drawn a bead on her.

She would have to worry about that later. For now, two spear-wielding warriors were running at her, their faces creased in anger. Instead of retreating, Lameta lowered her head and charged, surprising her opponents for a second. Gripping the first girl’s spear shaft, Lameta wrenched the weapon to one side, and as the woman’s back arched, causing her breasts to swing wantonly, Lameta rammed her knife into soft, yielding flesh.

The cultist yelled, quivering in Lameta’s grasp, blood spilling over her sundered left breast and down her body. Lameta twisted the blade and ripped it free. Her knife’s blade was clotted with fatty flesh, and a spray of blood splashed across her face, momentarily blinding her. She gasped and staggered, knowing that the other cultist’s spear would be angling for her defenceless body.

Myra rose up from her hut’s rooftop, a slim knife held by its blade. She threw the weapon with precision, and it glimmered as it whipped through the air before squelching into the eye socket of the second cultist. The woman flopped back lifeless, bloody pus spewing from around the blade invading her skull. Her legs and arms jerked and twisted, and a spray of warm urine hissed down her thighs.

Lameta finally cleared her vision, in time to see the last cultist with her bow raised, the arrow pointing unwaveringly toward her chest. Then, the cultist shifted her aim upwards, and the bowstring twanged as she loosed her shaft. Lameta spun with a shout of alarm, but already Myra was clutching the arrow where it had plunged deep into her navel. Her mouth formed an ‘O’, her eyes wide as she gazed to where the feathered shaft invaded her pale flesh. Then, she shuddered and pitched forward, her body turning head over heels before she crashed into the ground and lay still, limbs spread wantonly.

‘No!’ Lameta cried, turning towards her friend’s killer and lunging with a snarl. The cultist was already nocking another arrow, but she gasped as she saw her opponent move in, dropping the bow to clutch at the blade at her hip. She never had a chance to use it. Lameta barrelled into her, knife stabbing low into her groin. The cultist yelped and doubled over, gaping soundlessly and shuddering as Lameta twisted the knife deliberately before yanking it up and out. Intestines poured from the cultist’s sundered belly as she fell forward with a grunt, squirming in her own loosened innards before turning her pleading gaze up towards Lameta. The whore spat down at the dying girl, tears in her eyes as she turned away and hurried to Myra’s body.

The girl was already dead, her eyes open and staring. Her neck had been broken in the fall, and Lameta tried to be thankful that she had at least not suffered before her death. Resolutely, the last of Syrus’ street thieves scrambled to her feet, claiming her last victim’s bow and quiver, her face set in a determined scowl.

*****

Arrows whizzed back and forth in the narrow passages between the cultists’ huts. A Keberan woman screamed and reeled back, clutching an arrow lodged in her naked breast and slumping to the ground beside Inga. The warrior woman cursed, keeping her head low as more missiles whipped overhead. A half-dozen of Koto’s girls lay sprawled around her, their slender bodies plundered by arrows, but the pale-skinned assassins were making their own count. Bowstrings hummed, sending feathered shafts slicing through the air before they found homes in warm flesh.

‘To hell with this,’ Inga muttered, scrambling to her feet and unlimbering her wide-bladed axe. ‘We don’t have time to sit around!’ she cried, ‘Follow me!’

‘The damn fool!’ Rahma cursed, but as the barrel-bodied woman hurtled past her, she couldn’t resist grinning in relish. ‘She’s got a point though. Come on!’

‘I didn’t agree to help you just so I could throw my life away in some damn fool, death or glory charge!’ Gehrak shouted in frustration, but as Keberan assassins started to charge around her, inspired by Inga’s lead, the pirate captain scrambled to her feet. ‘Oh, what the hell. You only live once.’

The cultists of Dak’hra panicked as the enemy charged, spearheaded by a ferocious warrior wielding a huge axe. They fired their bows, sending feathered shafts flying, but more than a few turned to flee, dropping their weapons in their eagerness to escape.

Inga yelled a curse as an arrow broke against the blade of her upraised axe, and a piece of shrapnel ripped open her cheek. Growling in rage, she fell upon the cultists who had foolishly elected to remain in their positions, and the archers could only throw up their arms and scream for mercy as the heavy axe descended.

The blade sheared through the skull of one woman, decapitating her above the lower jaw. The weapon continued down into the chest of a second cultist, who shrieked in agony as her flesh split apart wetly. The headless body of the first victim crashed against the ground, legs kicking, blood belching from above her flapping jaw. The body arched and twisted, its breasts flailing, until - with a horrid gurgle – bloody vomit spewed from amidst the ragged flesh which was all that remained of the woman’s neck. Inga hefted her blade, uncaring that her second victim was still wedged on the bloody weapon. Still alive, the cultist screamed shrilly, until her flesh ripped again and she tumbled off the blade, landing loosely atop the body of her slaughtered sister. She jerked and writhed for a handful of seconds, clutching at the minced flesh of her chest and breasts, until her eyes rolled back in her skull and she expired with a wet gurgle.

Rahma charged an archer, stabbing forward as the woman swung her weapon to bear. Her sword sliced through the bow’s wooden frame, punching into the cultist’s upper chest and impaling her with a hideous shriek of steel against bone. The cultist gagged as she stared down aghast at the weapon sticking through her, then pitched back brokenly as Rahma’s boot slammed into her ribs, kicking her off her sword. She cast about for another opponent, but Koto’s assassins were all over the enemy, their spears and knives slashing and stabbing.

A Keberan fell, shot at point blank range, the arrow emerging from between her shoulder-blades after pinning her between the breasts. She toppled with a sigh, but her sisters pushed forward to revenge their colleague, their spears ramming into the cultist again and again, reducing her breasts and belly to raw mincemeat. The woman screamed again and again as the weapons stabbed and were yanked free, each time their serrated tips ripping away flesh and fat.

But there were enemy archers on the hut rooftops also, and they fired down into the throng below, unable to miss the massed bodies that huddled and pushed forward in their eagerness to wet their blades. A Keberan girl was tossed back as an arrow crunched into her skull, causing her right eye to erupt from its socket amidst a shower of pink pus. By her side, another sister gagged as a shaft tore into the side of her throat, impaling her thoroughly before the bloody tip ripped from under her shoulderblade. Yet another girl spun with a wild cry, gripping the missile that was wedged in her belly, her face etched with pain. The arrow’s tip protruded from between her buttocks, smeared with thick blood, and a crimson shower jetted from the girl’s crotch to spatter against the ground before she sagged and slumped face-first into the wet mud.

‘We’re getting slaughtered!’ Gehrak yelled in alarm, even as she withdrew her cutlass from the belly of a screeching cultist. The pirate lanced out an arm to grip her dying victim, hoisting the woman aloft and turning to keep the body between her and the archers. The cultist’s body shuddered as two arrows thudded into her back, and as their tips burst from the woman’s naked breasts, Gehrak cursed as her face was showered with blood. ‘Damn it, Rahma, do something!’

Rahma gripped Inga’s shoulder, aware that the warrior woman seemed bulkier than moments before, her breaths more like savage growls. Butchered bodies were strewn around her, quivering lumps of flesh and limbs testament to her strength, and the wickedly sharp axeblade. ‘Inga! Use your axe. There!’

Inga grunted and nodded, swinging her blade with all her strength into the side of a hut. Wood cracked, support struts spliced into splinters as the heavy blade ripped through them. The hut’s roof began to pitch sideways, and the archers on top screamed as they fell, thrown headlong into the swarm of enemy warriors below. A cultist hit the ground and rolled, landing before Rahma. The girl had a second to gasp in dismay before the guard captain’s blade punched between her ribs, angled up to shear through her heart. Her back arched, breasts rising high as she breathed her last, but as Rahma ripped her weapon free her body slumped lifeless, a sigh escaping between her blood-flecked lips.

Inga’s axe was rising again, this time falling to chop a stricken cultist in two. The girl screamed as she lashed at the ground with flailing arms, causing her upper torso to jerk away from the lower. Guts spewed free, and the dying cultist stared aghast at her kicking legs.

Cultist archers on the opposite hut cried in frustration as their sisters died, but raised their bows and continued sending arrows into the enemy. As one of the women took aim at the armoured guard captain below, a slim arm wrapped around her throat and tugged her back. She tried to yell in alarm, but something cold slid between her shoulder-blades, and she couldn’t make any sound other than a wheezing gasp. She sagged in the arms of her killer, a trickle of blood spilling from the side of her mouth.

Koto let her victim drop, kicking the woman forward off the side of the hut before she ploughed into the other archers. As they became aware of the enemy amongst them, the cultists screamed in alarm and tried to being their bows to bear, but Koto’s blade flicked out once, twice, a third time, and as many cultists died. They sank slowly, clutching their slashed throats as they struggled for breath.

Below, the cultists were decimated, but Rahma spied two trying to escape between the huts, and cried out for archers to take them down. Keberan archers took aim, but the enemy women were already out of sight. Rahma cursed, but even as she began to pursue the escaping girls, one of them stumbled back into view, her arms pinwheeling before she crashed back, an arrow wedged between her breasts. A second later, the other cultist came running, but a second arrow plunged into her back. She threw up her arms, her face twisted in pain and her breasts flailing before she hit the ground with a crash, the shaft that had killed her protruding from between her shoulder-blades.

Lameta stepped into view, her face grim as she surveyed the fallen women. She noticed Rahma as the guard captain stalked to her side.

‘Your friend?’ Rahma asked gruffly, but Lameta only shook her head.

‘The way to the temple is clear,’ she said, ‘I suggest we get inside before more cultists spot us.’

Rahma turned to wave to Koto and Inga, but as these two began to lead the Keberan cultists towards the unguarded temple, the captain rounded on Lameta and gripped her by the throat. Astonished, Lameta’s eyes bulged as she was hoisted aloft.

‘I’m wondering why you and your friends are so keen to help us in our current endeavour,’ Rahma hissed, ‘You’re a common thief and a murderer. Why risk your life to help us?’

‘I’m . . . more than that,’ Lameta wheezed, ‘I . . . belong to a cult, also. We . . . worship Lorus.’

‘Goddess of thieves and tricksters,’ Rahma said, ‘So what? Most common criminals worship her.’ She let Lameta down, and the thief staggered gasping.

‘The cult of Dak’hra is well known,’ Lameta told the captain, ‘and even the chaos cults fear it. For if Dak’hra returns, there will be only madness and destruction. And I for one don’t want to live the rest of my life as a slave. Everything, even my vendetta against Jina, comes second to thwarting the cult’s plans.’

Rahma shook her head. There’re too many damn cults involved in this business for my liking. When I get back to Kafara, I’m going to outlaw them.’

The temple lay ahead, and now there were no more cultists to block their passage. Taking the lead, Rahma led the remnants of her little army up the stone steps and through the looming archways that led inside, wondering how many cultists remained within.

*****

Enthralled in the ceremony, the cultists of Dak’hra didn’t even hear Jina and her comrades until it was too late. The leftmost woman opened her mouth to scream as a muscular forearm wrapped around her throat, but before she could make a sound Jina had twisted her head sharply. Bones cracked and splintered, and the guard sagged back against the gladiator, her eyes wide and staring.

At the same moment, Laisha dragged her victim back, her hand clamped over the guard’s mouth. The woman struggled briefly, but as the pitfighter’s fingers jabbed into the base of her throat, she too collapsed loosely, killed instantly.

Macha was unused to such subtle methods to despatch a foe. She grabbed her victim by the shoulder and spun her round, lashing out her other fist to smash into the cultist’s face. As the woman stumbled back, Macha relieved her of her spear. ‘Three down, nine to go!’ the pirate captain cried with delight.

Beside the altar, where Ninoor still struggled and whimpered, Hinra was peering into the pit with mounting excitement. Still chanting the words of power, she fingered the sacrificial blade eagerly. Her heart skipped as she saw the first shadows flitting against the slimy, blood-streaked walls of the pit. Dak’hra was coming!

*****

‘They’re in!’ Zeta cried in excitement as she caught a glimpse of Rahma’s tall frame slipping between the pillars of the distant temple, mostly hidden by the ranks of cultists huts.

‘About damn time!’ Hindor growled. The pirate girls and Rahma’s guardswomen had been holding their own, but under the withering arrow fire from the entrenched cultists, casualties had been high. Now it was time to mete out some revenge. As Zeta made ready to lead her warriors in a charge, the Sea Serpent’s bosun waved more pirate archers into position, and the women raised their bows high, sending dozens of feathered shafts skywards.

Lulled into thinking the attack was a half-hearted affair at best, the cultists of Dak’hra shouted in alarm as arrows began to rain down around them. Shafts crunched into skulls and shoulders, sending cultists spinning and dropping. As they reeled under the sudden onslaught, they heard the battlecries of the Kafaran guardswomen as the remains of Rahma’s warriors, fifteen in all, charged into battle.

Unused to facing such foes, the cultists were dazzled by the guardswomen’s polished armour, swords and shields. As the deluge of pirate arrows ceased, no more than a handful of cultists raised their bows to fire on the women charging straight at them.

Zeta yelled her charges on, aware that Rahma would be counting on her. Arrows began to whip through the air around her, but she gritted her teeth and kept charging. By her side, a guard screamed and staggered to a standstill as a shaft sank deep between her ribs. On her right, another woman was tossed back, killed instantly as an arrow squelched through her eye and skewered her brains. But now the guardswomen were amongst the enemy, and their swords and axes were swinging down to cleave flesh eagerly. Zeta swung her own shield, knocking aside a cultist’s spear as the woman reared up before her with a terrified scream. Her sword stabbed forward, splitting into the cultist’s navel, causing the woman to double over with a loud groan. Zeta ripped the sword aside, eviscerating the cultist cruelly, raising her gore-choked blade before diving deep into the melee.

Hindor and her pirates were close behind the lieutenant, and the swarthy girls fell onto the terrified cultists eagerly. The bald-headed woman kicked out at a cultist as the woman lunged at her, and as the cultist fell away with a yell of pain Hindor stabbed down into her naked back. The cultist arched and screamed shrilly, blood belching from around the blade where it skewered her between the shoulder-blades.

‘They’re on the run!’ Zeta crowed, and Hindor grinned a response. ‘Finish them off, Hindor! I’m going for the temple.’

‘What?’ the bald-headed woman yelled, ‘Your captain ordered you to take charge out here!’

‘The fight is done! My girls will obey your commands.’ Zeta turned to hurry away, and Hindor cursed colourfully, then turned her attention back to the battle. Zeta was right, this was now nothing more than a rout, but there was still killing to be done.

As Zeta closed on the temple, panic gnawed at her guts. Jina was still alive? She had never imagined they would find the gladiator after leaving Carador. Now there was a chance Rahma could confront her, and hear the true story of how Henna had died. Would the captain believe her story? Probably not, but Rahma knew she hated Henna, and a seed of mistrust would be sown.

Desperately, Zeta mounted the temple steps. She had no idea what she could do to get to Jina before Rahma, she just knew she had to try.

*****

Captain Rahma led the way through the temple, her sword held low and ready, her eyes hooded as she squinted through the gloom. Koto was by her side, and the captain knew the Ippanese girl’s keen senses would be alert to the possibility of an ambush. The wide halls were thronged with columns and ornate pillars, all etched with disturbing depictions of otherworldly creatures, and humans writhing in mortal agony.

Behind Rahma, Gehrak kept close, eyeing the etchings with unease. Inga prowled beside her, and the warrior woman’s face was grim. Wherever she looked there were signs of the temple’s evil, yet she had blindly followed Arasha here, as she had followed the duellist’s orders for the past few years. Had she been so blind to all but Arasha’s charm and talk of a cure for her disease that she had not even considered the possibility that her so-called friend had been using her? Or had Arasha cast some enchantment on her to keep her servile? However much the latter possibility made her skin crawl, the alternative was even more repellent. She gripped her axe tighter, wondering if she would have to fight Arasha in the coming battle, and whether she could even lift a blow against her former mistress.

Lameta and Koto’s sisters brought up the rear. Only twenty Keberan cultists remained, but they held their weapons eagerly, preparing for their final battle with the enemy cult. Hundreds of their sisters had died this day, and they were hungry for revenge.

A tinkling laugh brought Rahma to a halt, her hand raised to bring those behind her to a halt. A short distance ahead, a woman stepped into view, a rapier held loosely in one hand. She was dressed in a simple tunic, far different to her normal garb of colourful, expensive fabrics. She grinned, waving to the approaching warriors as she slumped casually against the nearest pillar, seemingly amused by the invasion.

Inga growled and hefted her axe. ‘Coral,’ she muttered to Rahma, ‘A witch and a duellist, like Arasha, except her skills are not so pronounced.’

Coral’s grin slipped. ‘We are equals, Arasha and I,’ she said indignantly, ‘Blessed of Dak’hra, who gave us immortality so that we might prepare for his coming. And he comes now!’ Coral threw her head back and laughed. ‘You should feel honoured. Your blood will be amongst the first he will feed upon.’

‘We’re not dead yet,’ Gehrak growled.

‘Who said you had to be?’ Coral asked, ‘I feel our master would prefer his blood to be . . . fresh. Still pumping from a living heart.’

‘We’ve no time for this,’ Koto pushed past Rahma, signalling that her girls spread out amongst the pillars, ‘This one won’t be alone. Hinra’s inner guard are experienced assassins. They’re bound to be . . .’

Dark shapes slithered into view high on the pillars surrounding Rahma’s warriors, and within seconds cultists were jumping to the ground on all sides, knife-blades flashing. A Keberan cultist squealed as a blade swept across her breasts, splitting the pale orbs open to release gushing blood. She clutched her split bosom and fell, but before she could hit the ground the knife-blade slashed back, opening her throat. By her side another sister died, an assassin’s blade buried deep in her heart.

Koto cried an alarm, but already her sisters were fighting back, their own knives flashing. Assassins swept towards Gehrak and Rahma, who backed away cautiously, ending up back-to-back, their swords held ready as the cultists closed in. Lameta ducked and wheeled away from two women who lunged at her, hissing in fury as she readied her own blade and jumped forward to engage her attackers. Within a second the halls were resounding to the clash of steel on steel, and the grunts and cries of women engaged in mortal combat.

Inga charged Coral, and the duellist backed away in surprise at the other woman’s fury. As the huge axe-blade swung, Coral nimbly ducked under the weapon, spinning and jabbing her rapier into Inga’s side. Inga grunted in pain, knowing that Coral had held the blow back when she could have scored an easy kill.

‘Come, come, Inga,’ Coral scolded, ‘Have you learned nothing since you’ve been with Arasha? We cannot be killed so easily, she and I, and we’ve had centuries to refine our skills.’ She ducked back as Inga turned on her with a wild cry and dove into the attack again, her axe whistling overhead. The heavy blade gouged into the floor, throwing up sparks, and Inga staggered to regain her balance. Coral stepped in to skewer the stocky warrior through the left thigh, and Inga groaned and collapsed to one knee, gritting her teeth against this fresh pain.

‘I’ve learned something, finally,’ she snarled as she levered herself to her feet, ‘If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Arasha had no intention of curing me, did she?’

‘Why should she? She enjoyed having you around. You were like a little puppy, fawning after her.’ Coral laughed, and Inga roared in fury, barrelling towards the duellist, who once more timed a sidestep to allow the warrior to thunder wide, this time punishing the muscular woman by stabbing into her upper arm. Inga’s axehead struck the ground as her arm was suddenly weakened. She gripped the new wound, impotent against Coral’s skill with her blade.

Rahma slammed her fist into a cultist’s face, succeeding in knocking the screaming girl from the bloody tip of her blade. Close by, Gehrak was holding her own against a cultist, another slumped lifeless and bleeding by her feet. Koto’s Keberan sisters had recovered from the surprise attack and were relishing slaughtering their enemy, but Rahma’s eyes were drawn to where Inga was struggling against the woman she called Coral. Flexing her swordarm, Rahma strode forward.

‘You look like you can actually wield that weapon, slut,’ she called, succeeding in making the duellist turn to face her as Inga collapsed to her knees in exhaustion. ‘Now that our friend has warmed you up, perhaps you’d enjoy a proper challenge?’ the captain said with relish.

Coral eyed the woman with caution. The captain’s reputation as a warrior was well known; she would indeed be a worthy foe. Grinning, Coral flicked her rapier up in a salute, then lunged with shocking suddenness. Rahma skittered back, her sword arching down to bash the slim blade to one side. Her leg kicked out in response, but Coral was spinning, already launching a fresh assault. Rahma cursed under her breath as she was forced to duck and lash out her sword to fend off the attack, her skill saving her life as the rapier blade was once again knocked aside.

Gehrak’s blade sucked free of her opponent’s belly, clogged with flesh and wrapped around with slimy intestines. The dying girl gurgled and bucked, her fingers clamouring around her wound, pressing her cleaved flesh together to keep her innards in place. Gehrak wrinkled her nose and wiped her blade on the woman’s shuddering body, then turned to see how her colleagues fared.

Koto and her sisters had the measure of the assassins pressed back, and were slaughtering them methodically, seemingly with some degree of enjoyment. Gehrak watched a Keberan disembowel her foe cruelly, not bothering to kill the woman as she lay screaming and writhing in a mound of her own glistening entrails. Another girl sliced open her opponent’s naked breasts with a well aimed swipe, and as the cultist sagged squealing, straddled her body and began to plunge her knife repeatedly into the dying girl’s belly and groin. Only Koto herself killed cleanly, although to Gehrak’s eyes this seemed purely to be her method of killing as many cultists as possible. As one girl spun and dropped, clutching a ragged gash in her throat, the Ippanese girl was already lashing out at another foe, stabbing her between the ribs and lifting her off her feet with the force of the blow.

Close by the Keberans, Lameta was engaged in a lethal dance with two cultists, but seemed to have the upper hand. Three enemy cultists already lay twitching nearby, their bodies sundered by the street-thief’s blade. Even as Gehrak watched, she ducked and lunged at one of her foes, and the cultist doubled over, lifted off her feet as a blade sheared through her navel and split from her lower back.

Satisfied that the cultists were no longer a threat, Gehrak turned her attention to where Rahma battled valiantly. ‘Need some help, captain?’ she asked genially as she approached.

‘Get lost!’ Rahma cried, then grunted in pain as Coral’s slim calf lanced out to kick her low in the side. She staggered, lashing her sword out blindly, her warrior’s instinct saving her life as the blade intercepted Coral’s incoming rapier.

‘Everyone needs help every now and then,’ Gehrak said smugly, lunging at Coral with her sword upraised. Then she gasped as the duellist spun to flick the rapier out towards her face, ending up staggering back with the nimble woman leaping towards her. She parried the duellist’s skilled blows again and again, feeling relief as Rahma roared and entered the fray again. Taking the captain’s lead, Gehrak was finally able to launch a counter-attack, and the two warriors pressed Coral back as the duellist was forced to parry two blades.

They split, Rahma flitting to Coral’s left while Gehrak dodged the other way. Somehow, Coral still managed to parry both their attacks, spinning and ducking, her rapier always in the right place to whisk an approaching blade aside.

‘By the Gods, she’s good,’ Gehrak yelped as she narrowly avoided being slashed by Coral’s flickering blade.

‘But not good enough,’ Rahma said grimly, as she locked blades with the duellist and threw her weight forward. For a fraction of a second Coral was knocked off balance, hissing in anger as she struggled to free her sword. ‘Now!’ Rahma cried, but Gehrak was already moving, her sword angling up into the woman’s slim back.

Coral’s eyes widened as she felt steel slice through her, ripping from between her lower ribs to emerge from her chest. She sagged to her knees, her mouth agape, a long groan mixing with the bloody drool spilling over her chin. As Gehrak placed her booted foot on the duellist’s back and pulled her sword free, she collapsed forward to lie sprawled, blood pooling around her twitching body.

Gehrak nudged the body with one foot, then stepped over it dismissively, grinning at Rahma. ‘We don’t make a bad team, captain. Why not give up the day job and join my crew?’

Instead of answering, Rahma reached forward and grabbed the pirate’s blouse, dragging her roughly towards her. Gehrak felt something slash across her back, and as she staggered and dropped to her knees, her ripped blouse falling around her shoulders, she stared incredulously to where Coral was standing, her legs braced and one hand clutching her bleeding breast. She spat blood, her face splitting in a hideous leer as she lunged towards Rahma.

‘Takes more than that to kill me, bitch!’ Her voice came thick with blood, spraying Rahma as the guard captain struggled to parry the duellist’s blows.

Gehrak struggled to her feet, feeling blood slick her muscular back but well aware Rahma had saved her life. She ripped the remnants of her shirt away, then gripped her sword grimly and moved to Rahma’s side. Once again the two warriors tried to press their foe back, but this time Coral meant business. Rahma hissed in fury as the duellist’s blade tip slashed open her upper arm, and Gehrak cried out a moment later, cupping her bare right breast, staring down aghast at her split nipple. As she reeled back, out of the fight once again, Rahma surged forward, slamming into Coral and sending her crashing onto her back.

Coral hissed and bucked under her, and Rahma cried out in dismay as the duellist’s inhuman strength allowed her to roll aside. Now the duellist was straddling her, her sword cast aside as her clawed hand gripped Rahma’s throat. The captain gagged, struggling futilely as she fought to take a breath. Coral’s face was above hers, and as the duellist leered, bloody drool spattered over Rahma’s face. Her vision began to blur, her struggles ebbing away, and for a moment she imagined, for the first time in her life, that another woman was going to best her in battle.

Then, Inga reared up behind Coral, and with a roar the stocky warrior used all her strength to bring her axe swinging around, taking Coral’s head cleanly from her shoulders. Rahma gasped in relief as the duellist’s hand fell away loosely, unable to comprehend what had occurred for a second as Coral’s body twitched and quivered atop her. Coral’s tunic top had fallen away, split at the neck, releasing her pale breasts to quiver and flail with the spastic twitching of her dying body. Blood belched from her neck stump, spilling across her breasts and splattering Rahma with a hot, greasy shower. Finally roused from her shock, the captain pushed the body back, and Coral’s corpse fell sprawled, her legs spread, tunic hem over her hips to expose her crotch, from where urine sprayed in short, hot spurts.

Inga stood beside Coral’s decapitated head. ‘The only way to kill the witches of Dak’hra,’ she said grimly, ‘Take their heads from their shoulders and they’ll die quick enough.’ With that, she grunted as she brought her booted foot down on the dead woman’s skull. It came apart with a hideous crunch and squelch of soft matter, eyeballs popping from their sockets along with pulped brains. As Inga wiped the grisly chunks from her boot on Coral’s body, Rahma turned to help Gehrak to her feet. The pirate was still staring at her split nipple.

‘Look what the bitch did!’ she whimpered.

‘It’ll heal,’ Rahma said brusquely, unable to prevent her eyes from lingering over the pirate’s nakedness. ‘But there’s still work to be done, and you can still lift a sword.’

Silence had fallen over the hall. The cultists of Dak’hra were all dead, slumped against pillars or sprawled in pools of sticky blood. Only a dozen of Koto’s sisters still lived, panting heavily amidst the carnage, their bodies slicked with gore. Koto herself and Lameta had survived the battle unscathed, but Gehrak and Inga had been wounded. The pirate grimaced as she fingered the wide slash down her back, which had been bleeding freely but now seemed to be clotting. Twisting her shredded blouse into a bolt, she tied the bloodstained rag across her breasts, gritting her teeth against the pain in her nipple. ‘I’ll be alright,’ she told Rahma, and the guard captain turned to Inga.

She eyed the stocky warrior with some unease. Inga was breathing heavily, her fists were clenching, and veins pulsed at her temple. Her hands were bloody, and Rahma’s eyes widened as she saw the claws that were emerging slowly from the tips of her fingers. Her eyes seemed to be glowing with a crimson fire, and her face seemed to elongate as she grunted in pain.

‘What the hell are you?’ Rahma hissed, then shivered as Inga’s inhuman eyes turned on her.

‘I’m angry,’ she growled, ‘But don’t worry. I have it . . . under control.’

Rahma nodded uneasily, noticing that Inga’s wounds seemed to have already closed. Her attention was diverted by running footsteps, and she turned to see who was approaching along with her colleagues, gripping her weapon tightly. She relaxed as Zeta skidded to a halt close to the Koto and her sisters, the lieutenant’s eyes wide as she took in the slaughter.

‘Zeta? What the hell are you doing here?’ she growled.

‘Hindor is finishing up out there,’ Zeta panted, ‘I thought I could be . . . more use to you here.’

Rahma scowled, but grudgingly knew another swordarm would come in useful. ‘Let’s go,’ she said brusquely. ‘This little encounter has slowed us down. If the High Priestess knows her cultists have fallen, she’s sure to start the sacrifice.’

*****

Jina ducked under a jabbing spear, lashing out with the shaft of her own to knock her cultist foe aside. The woman fell with a yelp, and without wasting the time to finish her off, Jina scrambled onto the dais just as Hinra realised something was amiss.

The High Priestess yelled in anger as she saw what was happening. Her five remaining prisoners were free and battling with her High Guard. Regardless of her immaculately planned ritual, the ancient’s blood would have to be spilled now! Her arm raised, chanting the final words of power, Hinra moved to the side of the altar, upon which Ninoor thrashed and squealed, knowing her death was imminent.

‘Dak’hra! I release you from the void!’ Hinra’s arm lashed down, but before her blade could pierce Ninoor’s flesh, she was suddenly barged aside and toppled the floor, her knife skittering from her grasp. Jina grabbed her arms, wrestling her into submission, but blinked in surprise as the High Priestess laughed. ‘Fool!’ she spat, ‘You dare to match you strength against mine? Dak’hra is but moments from breaching the space between his realm and ours. Already I can feel his power flowing through me!’

Her arms lanced up, and Jina yelled in dismay as she was flung bodily off the High Priestess’s body. She flew back to crash against the side of the altar, gasping in pain as the stone rim opened a gash on her lower back. Not allowing herself to even think about the pain, she rebounded off the altar and came at Hinra again, her foot lashing out in an attempt to kick the Priestess into the abyss.

Hinra’s hand intercepted Jina’s leg smoothly, and without even seeming to strain, she flicked the gladiator aside. Jina groaned as she slammed against the dais floor, but struggled to her feet again, lunging at Hinra as the Priestess strode towards the altar. She skidded to a halt as Arasha appeared before her, her rapier drawn and held ready.

‘Something told me it would end like this, Jina,’ Arasha said, and Jina fancied she heard a pang of regret in the duellist’s voice. Trying not to remember the times they had sparred together at Ninoor’s villa in Kafara, where Arasha had proved her unbeatable skill time and again, Jina snarled and lowered her spear before diving into battle.

Beside the dais, Laisha ripped her spear’s tip from the guts of a shrieking cultist. Aware of what was occurring behind her, she turned her back on two more cultists coming for her, and nimbly jumped onto the dais to intercept the Priestess. ‘Macha! Keep those cultists back!’ she cried.

‘Great,’ Macha growled, parrying incoming blows from two more cultists with her spear. Nera and Serama fought close by, armed with knives plundered from the first three cultists that had been felled. Even without their bows, the dark skinned girls were formidable warriors, but Hinra’s High Guard were too much for them.

Serama was first to fall. As she ducked under a jabbing spear and spun into a position to counter attack, a cowardly strike from a cultist behind her made her gasp in pain. A spear tip ripped from her belly, caked with blood and flesh. Impaled from behind, she arched her back and sank slowly to her knees, her teeth bared as her lips drew back in a grimace of mortal pain. Two more cultists surged forward to stab down into her body, which quivered and jerked as the weapons were driven in and out of her yielding flesh.

Nera cried out as she saw her last comrade fall, the distraction costing her dear. A spear rammed forward under her defences, stabbing through her loincloth and sinking deep into her groin. She groaned and doubled over, her body quivering as the spear’s tip tore from between her buttocks, trailing dark gore. As the cultist ripped the weapon free, causing Nera’s hips to jerk forward and send her crashing to her knees, the archer gripped her crotch and howled in anguish as hot blood and piss squirted from between her fingers. The cultist reared back and thrust her spear again, this time burying the weapon under Nera’s ribs. Lifted off her feet as the cultist hoisted her victim aloft, Nera quivered and jerked atop the shaft, her blood spattering down onto the stones beneath her feet.

Macha cursed the cultists as they closed in around her. Five lay dead in all, but the seven that remained would quickly overrun her. ‘Come on, then!’ she screamed her defiance, but as the cultists began to swarm towards her, the chamber’s heavy doors burst open.

‘Kill them!’ Rahma yelled in relish as she led the way into the chamber, swiftly taking in what was happening. The High Priestess Hinra was on a dais, perilously close to the altar which held Ninoor ready for sacrifice. A huge censer swung over the dais, spewing greasy smoke that was being sucked into the pit at its centre. The pirate girl Laisha was tackling the High Priestess beside the pit, but the match seemed to be decidedly one-sided. Close by them, Jina was fighting Arasha, and Macha was facing off against more than half a dozen cultists.

‘Looked like we arrived just in time!’ Gehrak crowed, ‘Please, Rahma, let me save Macha. She’ll never live it down!’

‘Ninoor is the priority, Gehrak! Whatever happens, she cannot be killed!’

Koto was already making for the dais, Lameta close behind. Hindered by her armour, Rahma made after them, with Zeta at her side. She could hear savage snarls from behind her, and knew Inga was keen to face Arasha. Gehrak and the remaining cultists of Keba moved to aid Macha.

Laisha yelled in pain as Hinra swept her arm around in a vicious slap, knocking the pitfighter head over heels. She came to her feet swiftly, her weapon lost but leaping at Hinra with her bare hands, fingers hooked like claws. Hinra laughed, plucking the warrior out of the air and tossing her casually towards the pit. Laisha screamed in dismay as she hit the floor and skidded over the rim into the abyss beyond.

Hinra raised one arm, her fingers splayed as she breathed words of power. Lightning crackled from her fingertips, arcing across the chamber to where the cultists of Keba were charging her own girls. Keberans screamed in agony as ragged, burning holes seared through their bare flesh, tossing them back to lie kicking and twitching, their flesh aflame.

‘Bitches of Keba,’ Hinra spat, ‘Your time is over. Dak’hra returns now!’

Laisha moaned as she frantically tried to lever herself back onto the dais. The walls of the pit were slimy with blood and spilled innards, but she had somehow managed to grab the rim of the pit before she was cast into the abyss. Her feet slipped on the slimy stone, unable to find a purchase. Then, as a fetid wind blew over her body from below, making her gag with the inhuman stench, she risked a glimpse down, and wished she hadn’t!

Some thing pulsed and warped not far below, an indescribable mass that reeked of evil and horror. Her eyes wide, her mind shattered by what she was seeing, Laisha scrabbled at the walls faster, as slimy tentacles snaked their way out of the thing below to slap against the walls, pulling the bulbous body inexorably towards the surface.

Jina hit the floor hard, groaning in pain but rolling to avoid Arasha’s follow up thrust. She hopped to her feet, her spear already stabbing out, but Arasha’s rapier flickered, battering the longer weapon aside. Already wounded by her foe’s blade, Jina felt her hope ebbing away. She was skilled with a spear, but it was not her weapon of choice. Against a foe like Arasha it was too cumbersome and slow. Still, she lunged again, trying to knock Arasha off balance with what, for her, would seem like a rash, unskilled attack. Arasha simply stepped aside, closing on the gladiator and stabbing deep into her thigh. Jina howled, falling back as Arasha slid the blade free.

‘You’re better than I remembered, Jina,’ she said, ‘and I would love to stretch this out, but time is of the essence. I’m sorry you chose not to join us.’ She stepped in to deliver the killing blow, as Jina struggled to find the strength to fight back.

‘Arasha!’

The duellist glanced up, startled, seeing that newcomers had mounted the dais. Inga was coming for her, seemingly half transformed to her beast state, her body and face warped and twisted hideously. Arasha moved back prudently, aware of Inga’s great strength.

‘What are you doing, Inga? After all we’ve been through, you’re betraying me?’ Arasha’s voice was pained, but Inga snarled her response.

‘After all your lies, you mean! Jina’s right, isn’t she? You never had any interest in curing me. I was too useful to you . . . like this!’

Roaring in fury, Inga surged forward, her clawed hands flailing. Arasha ducked and weaved out of harms way, shaking her head. ‘No, Inga. That’s not true. The creature you fought in Kearth, which carried the disease that blights you, no longer exists. Once they were numerous, and were the servants of Dak’hra when he ruled the land. After he was banished, his minions were hunted to extinction, but when I heard what had happened to you, I knew what I had to do. For three years I’ve been trying to find the key to enable a complete transformation. To build an army of changelings that would be Dak’hra’s servants on his return.’

‘You would have turned me into the beast forever?’ Inga cried in anguish.

‘No, Inga. If I had found the secret, I would have cured you. Now, unfortunately, it’s too late. Within moments, Dak’hra will walk again, and the time for preparations is past.’ Arasha’s blade flickered as she adopted a fighting stance. ‘A quick death, Inga. For old times sake.’

Inga’s rage spilled over. Now more beast than woman, she hurled herself at Arasha, her claws extended, eager to rip the duellist limb from limb. The claws sank through flesh and Arasha gasped, but as Inga’s body slammed against hers, she slid a dagger from her belt with her free hand, and rammed the blade up under Inga’s ribs.

Her head snapping back, Inga let out an animal howl of pain, staggering back away from Arasha. By the time the cry had run its course, it was the sound of a human woman who had been dealt a killing blow. She sagged to her knees, her flesh mottled but normal, her hands bloody where the claws had retreated. She gripped the dagger in her chest, pulling it free and jerking in pain as blood spurted from the wound. For a second she stared at the silver plated weapon in her hands, then she breathed a sigh and pitched back to lie sprawled. Arasha stepped close, staring down sadly as Inga died, the wounds the beast woman had made on her shoulders and chest already closing.

As Koto and Lameta attacked Hinra, Rahma made for the altar, her sword lashing down to sever the leather straps that held Ninoor securely. She roughly dragged the screaming woman from the altar, thrusting her towards Zeta. ‘Get her out of here!’ she ordered, and as Zeta obediently yanked Ninoor towards the edge of the dais, the guard captain turned to help her comrades.

Koto gathered her will, shielding herself and Lameta as Hinra muttered words of power and lightning flashed from her fingertips. The bolts sizzled into nothing, and Hinra spat a curse as Koto reeled, stunned by the power the Priestess was able to wield. Lameta scurried forward, thinking Hinra might be equally disoriented, but the Priestess laughed and extended her hand again. A spear lying discarded a short distance away abruptly skittered into the air, and Hinra caught it nimbly, stabbing out in one fluid motion to impale Lameta through her navel.

Lameta gaped in shock, doubling over and clutching the shaft stuck through her flesh. With a dismissive flick, Hinra sent the mortally wounded street-thief flying, to crash to the stone floor beyond the dais, close to where Koto’s Keberans were battling with the last of the cultists. She writhed in pain, clutching the spears shaft where it still impaled her.

Macha yanked her spear from a dying cultist, finding herself face to face with Gehrak.

‘You must really want to kill me, you old bitch,’ she shouted, ‘putting yourself in all this danger.’

‘Don’t get sentimental, sea slut,’ Gehrak shouted back, kicking her own opponent in the crotch and skewering the groaning woman as she doubled over. Now only four cultists remained fighting, and Koto’s girls seemed to be dealing with them efficiently. ‘We’d better make our presence felt over there,’ she gestured towards the dais, ‘We’ve run out of bitches to kill.’

‘Where’s Laisha?’ Macha asked fearfully as her eyes flitted over those still fighting on the dais. She made to move towards the dais, but Gehrak gripped her arm.

‘If she’s dead, she died well. If she’s alive, she doesn’t need your help.’ Her eyes fell to the ground nearby, where Inga’s heavy axe lay where she had dropped it when she charged Arasha. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

‘Keba is with you, Koto,’ Hinra said, ‘But her power cannot match mine.’ She gathered her will again, this time sending a bolt of pure power into Koto. Lifted off her feet, Koto screamed as she flew across the chamber to crash into a column, shattering the stone before crumpling to the ground unconscious.

Rahma cursed as she found she was alone before the Priestess. Hinra leered at her, but then noticed Ninoor was no longer on the altar. ‘No!’ she screamed, her eyes narrowing as she cast about to see where the ancient had gone. Weakened by her time on the altar, Ninoor was collapsed against Zeta, who was almost carrying her towards the doors. Hinra’s hand snapped out again, and another spear flew into her grasp. Rahma cried out in alarm, but before she could act, the High Priestess had pointed the spear towards her quarry, barked a single word, and the weapon flew from her hand.

Ninoor’s head snapped back, and she squealed in agony as the spear impaled her, its tip bursting from between her breasts to sink into Zeta’s side. The lieutenant cried out in fear and pain as she was lifted off her feet, and she and Ninoor were dragged by some invisible force back onto the dais. The spear shaft slapped into Hinra’s hand again, and as Zeta squirmed and fell to the ground before the Priestess, Hinra held the weapon aloft. Ninoor struggled weakly, her blood splattering the dais, and as some sprayed into the pit, a thunderous roar shook the temple. Zeta scrambled away, gasping in pain as she clutched her side.

‘Finally, after all these years,’ Hinra sobbed as she lowered the spear, grabbing Ninoor’s hair and yanking the dying girl off the weapon’s tip, ‘Dak’hra has returned, to be master of this world once more.’

Behind her, Laisha scrabbled against the rim of the pit, almost finding purchase before slipping back again. She felt herself begin to fall, but as a scream rose in her throat, something struck her from behind, lifting her up and out of the pit to crumple onto the dais.

From all around the pit, dark tentacles were spilling to slither across the dais, gripping the stone as Dak’hra’s bulbous form prepared for the final push that would herald his return. The tentacles pulsed and lashed, their tips splitting open to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Hinra turned. ‘Dak’hra honeth, monra herath!’ she cried, lifting Ninoor’s weakly twitching body high. The girl’s blood was spilling freely, rivulets already snaking towards the pit’s rim, but as Hinra’s eyes lowered towards the pit, they widened as she saw Laisha.

The pirate girl was plastered with blood and filth, but her white teeth were clearly visible as her face split in a savage grin. In her hand she held Hinra’s own sacrificial blade, and the Priestess could only scream in pointless denial as Laisha launched herself forward, ramming the blade low into Hinra’s bare belly.

Ninoor fell from her hands, her lifeless body slapping against the dais and rolling brokenly. Hinra staggered back, clutching the wound in her stomach, gurgling as she sagged to her knees. Laisha staggered, exhausted by her attempts to escape from the pit, but then gripped her dagger grimly as she stepped forward to finish the Priestess.

‘Look out!’ Rahma shouted fearfully, but before the pitfighter could react to the warning, a slimy tentacle whipped over the edge of the pit and coiled around her leg. She screamed as she fell forward, the knife skittering from her grasp, and as she was dragged towards the pit all she could do was scrabble ineffectually against the stones of the dais. The scream caught in her throat as she was borne aloft, dragged over the rim of the abyss to see what lay within.

The inside of the pit was now a mass of writhing tentacles, more and more of which were scaling the sides to spill onto the dais. The bulbous mass below her had now changed, and she found herself staring aghast into a vast maw, lined with tens of thousands of jagged teeth. Around the fleshy, puckering orifice were hundreds of pale orbs, gelatinous and flaccid, with black spheres at their centres which rolled and twitched before coming to bear on Laisha. As her mind snapped irrevocably by what she was seeing, Laisha screamed as she felt Dak’hra’s eyes on her.

Suspended above the pit, Laisha squirmed in the grip of the hugging tentacles that grabbed at her limbs. Her legs were spread wide, and those who watched were horrified as another tentacle reared up between her thighs.

‘No!’ Macha screamed from the far side of the dais. Gehrak grabbed her and shook her.

‘You can’t help her, Macha. Come on, or we’ll all share her fate!’

Laisha screamed a final time as the tentacle beneath her lunged forward, ripping through leather and tearing the delicate flesh between her legs wide apart. Her stomach seemed to swell as the tentacle pulsed more of its length inside her, and her struggles ceased as her eyes widened.

Jina lurched to her feet, her wound forgotten as she stared in horror. She imagined the rows of teeth inside Laisha, eating her from the inside out, and as the pitfighter’s stricken gaze seemed to fall upon her, the gladiator knew what she had to do. ‘Your vengeance will have to wait until we meet in the afterlife, Laisha,’ she whispered as she raised her spear, ‘Just remember you owe me a favour.’

The spear flew true, its tip slamming between Laisha’s breasts, skewering her heart and killing her instantly. A deafening roar erupted from the pit, powerful enough to knock those still standing off their feet. Jina gasped and clutched her ears, writhing in pain until the sound ceased. She didn’t see Laisha’s body ripped apart as the tentacles gripping her limbs yanked in opposite directions, or the brave warrior’s remains splashing down into Dak’hra’s maw. As she struggled to her feet once more, she came face to face with Arasha.

‘Time to finish things, Jina,’ Arasha said grimly.

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Jina snarled, ‘You going to let me arm myself?’

‘Jina!’

The gladiator turned to see Rahma regaining her feet a short distance away. The captain drew a shortsword from where it was sheathed at her belt, and reversed it before lobbing it towards Jina. As she caught the blade by its emerald-topped hilt, Jina felt complete in a way she hadn’t been for weeks.

‘Your own blade won’t help you,’ Arasha snarled as she danced forward, her rapier extended. ‘Remember when we were training in Kafara? You could not match me then, and you won’t match me know.’

‘One thing you’re forgetting, Arasha,’ Jina hissed as she parried the duellist’s slim blade. ‘I’m a gladiator. We fight best when our lives depend on it!’ She whisked the rapier aside and began to rain blows down towards Arasha, forcing the duellist to back off as she struggled to parry the perfectly executed attacks.

‘Good, Jina. Much better!’ Recovering from the gladiator’s devastating onslaught, Arasha responded with a series of jabs and thrusts that forced Jina back again. ‘But you still can’t defeat me!’

‘Take her head from her shoulders, Jina. It’s the only way to kill her!’ Rahma appeared by Jina’s side, her own sword held ready. Arasha scowled, her hand flicking out as she barked a single word. Rahma was lifted off her feet and thrown back, crashing down with a curse close to the edge of the pit. She staggered to her feet, spitting blood and cursing, then frowned as she heard a slithering sound from behind her. She spun, to see a tentacle snaking over the dais towards Ninoor’s huddled corpse, wrapping around the girl’s leg. As the tentacle began to drag the body towards the rim, Rahma cried out in alarm.

‘No you don’t!’ she yelled, chopping down with her sword to sever the tentacle just below Ninoor’s bare foot. Steel rang against stone, and as a roar of pain sounded from the pit, causing Rahma to stagger drunkenly, the slimy tentacle reared up, dozens of smaller, snake-like strands erupting from its severed end. Rahma gasped, but as someone barrelled into her she fell aside out of harms way. She cracked her head on the dais stone, and rolled groaning for several seconds before she was able to scrabble to her feet. Before her, Zeta was held aloft, squirming in pain as the smaller tentacles, each tipped by a slavering, tooth-filled mouth, burrowed into the flesh of her stomach.

‘No!’ Rahma shouted in anger, lashing out again with her sword and severing the smaller tentacles with one sure stroke. The greasy appendage slithered back into the pit, leaving a viscous trail of black slime from its severed end, and Rahma was left staring in horror to where the remnants of each smaller tentacle swiftly disappeared into Zeta’s body, burrowing through the lieutenant’s flesh with a horrid slurping sound.

Jina reeled back under another deluge of blows from Arasha. She struggled to stay standing on her wounded leg, and risked a glance down at her arm, where Arasha had just opened another gash. ‘Bare your throat, gladiator,’ the duellist said grimly, ‘Take a quick death now, or die slowly with Dak’hra feasting on your living guts.’

A growl rose in Jina’s throat, and Arasha stepped back in alarm as she realised the gladiator’s anger was feeding her strength. Jina lunged, her shortsword stabbing forward under Arasha’s guard, splicing into her belly and impaling her up to the hilt. Arasha let out a ragged moan, but as Jina collapsed back, she fancied the sound was more like pleasure than pain. Doubled over, Arasha slowly withdrew the blade from her flesh, its length shiny with bright blood. As she rose to her full height, she grinned and cast the sword aside.

‘That was your last chance. A good effort, but captain Rahma was speaking the truth. You should have aimed for my throat.’

Rahma was dragging Zeta from the dais when she heard Hinra coming for her. Cursing, the guard captain turned just in time, gripping the Priestess’ forearm as she brought her sacrificial knife down. Hinra’s face was streaked with tears and blood, which bubbled over her lips as she breathed raggedly. She stammered words of power, but as she saw the Priestess was too weak to summon her spells, Rahma grinned and drew her head back, then snapped it forward to crush Hinra’s nose. The Priestess’ head whipped back, her eyes glassy. The knife slipped from her hand as she crumpled to Rahma’s feet.

Rahma drew her sword and clutched the pommel with both hands, raising the blade over Hinra’s exposed back. ‘You may be a black hearted bitch, priestess,’ the captain spat, ‘but I reckon if I split it in two you’ll die like the rest of your sluts!’ She grunted as she rammed the blade down, impaling Hinra between the shoulderblades. The Priestess let out a ragged cry, collapsing to lie kicking and writhing. Pinned to the dais by Rahma’s mighty blow, her hands scrabbled at the stone as her hips jerked skyward and her buttocks quivered in her protracted death throes.

Gehrak heaved Inga’s huge axe high, straining to hold it above her head.

‘Wait!’ Macha shouted. She gazed to where Arasha stood over Jina on the far side of the pit, then raised her eyes to where the massive censer swung high over the duellist’s head, reaching its highest before ponderously starting to swing back towards the centre of the dais. ‘Now!’ Macha screamed, and with relief Gehrak brought the axe down will all her strength, raising showers of sparks as the weapon’s head sheared through thick links of chain.

Instantly, the severed lengths of chain whipped up and out, striking Gehrak across the face and sending her flailing back with a cry. Macha ducked as the heavy metal whooshed over her own head, then gaped up, willing the censer to fall.

Picking up speed as it began its downward swing, the censer suddenly began to drop, freed from its mounts as the supporting chains whipped free. From where she lay, Jina saw Arasha look up in alarm, and her wide-eyed face was lit with shining gold and flame for a fraction of a second before the censer’s bulk smashed into her. Jina gasped and rolled aside, hearing rather than seeing Arasha’s fate.

As the censer struck the dais, the duellist’s body ruptured, spraying bright gore in all directions. The censer skidded across the stone, leaving a greasy trail of fat and blood, teetering on the rim of the pit for a moment before slowly toppling in. A high pitched scream turned into a ground-shaking roar as the huge metal sphere fell, striking the bulbous mass of Dak’hra’s bloated body as the banished God struggled to pull himself from the abyss. As the weight of the censer struck him, the tentacles gripping the dais were wrenched free, slithering and whipping frantically before being sucked into the pit. The roar receded, and with it a howling wind that sucked at Jina’s body, threatening to pull her into the pit also. Screaming in fear, she scrabbled against the stones, finding purchase and holding on in terror until the wind died away and she was left panting in disbelief, unable to accept the nightmare was finally over.

*****

Tired and bloody, the survivors were helped from the temple by the surviving city guards and pirates. They sprawled on the temple steps, panting and wide-eyed, grateful to be alive. Koto was the first to rise, shaking off the hands of her sisters as they sought to help her.

‘Our work isn’t finished yet,’ she told the five remaining Keberan women, ‘We must collapse the inner temple to seal the pit once and for all. I’ll need your strength.’

As the Ippanese women disappeared into the temple again, captain Rahma knelt beside her lieutenant. ‘Rest easy, Zeta,’ she said softly, ‘Once that priestess has done her business in there, she’ll see to you.’

Zeta’s body quivered and shuddered, her eyelids flickering. Rahma frowned, wondering if her lieutenant could even hear her. Then her eyes dropped to the girl’s bare stomach, and her skin crawled as she saw movement beneath the taut skin, around the raw holes where the snake-like tendrils had eaten into flesh. As Gehrak and Macha approached her, Rahma came to her feet.

‘You’re still alive then,’ she acknowledged grudgingly.

‘And in good humour,’ Gehrak grinned, ‘Here I am, a carefree trader with no criminal record, next to a temple filled to the brim with gold and jewels? I couldn’t be better.’

‘No criminal record?’ Macha asked archly, ‘Since when? And does that count for me, also?’

Rahma scowled. ‘Under the circumstances, I suppose I could pull some strings…’

The pirate captains grinned at each other hugely, seeming to forget their enmity for a moment. Then, as the walls of the temple began to tremble gently, they turned in alarm.

‘Not to worry,’ Rahma told them smugly, ‘I suspect that’s Koto and her sisters starting to bring this temple down around our ears, treasure and all.’

‘She can’t do that!’ Macha blurted. Within seconds the two pirates were sprinting up the temple steps, yelling at their girls for help. As the pirates started their frantic looting, Rahma’s eyes turned to where Jina slumped beside Inga’s body.

‘I hope you’ve found the peace you wanted so badly, Inga,’ Jina whispered, touching her friend’s face fondly. Then, she stiffened as a swordblade was laid across the side of her throat.

‘You’re not going to give me any trouble, Jina?’ Rahma asked grimly. The gladiator’s head lowered and shook imperceptibly.

‘You came all this way just to arrest me?’ she asked wearily.

‘For the murder of Syrus the physician and his assistants, and for remaining within the city gates beyond the time permitted after your release.’ Rahma scowled, pressing her sword more firmly against Jina’s throat. ‘And for killing sergeant Henna during your escape from Carador.’

Jina turned her head carefully to look up at the guard captain in surprise. ‘Who?’

Rahma’s temper spilled over, and she struck Jina across the face with a backhand slap. Surprised, Jina sprawled across the temple steps, moaning at this fresh pain. Rahma’s booted foot slammed down on her breast, holding her firm as the captain pressed her sword into the base of Jina’s throat.

‘One of my best warriors,’ Rahma hissed, ‘And more than that. More than a friend . . .’ she swallowed her rage with difficulty, but as Jina stared up at her in confusion, a cold gleam came into her eye. ‘Throughout the journey here, I was looking forward to bringing you back to Kafara, where you would stand for judgement and swing for your crimes. Now I’m here, face to face, that doesn’t seem good enough. By the power invested in me by our Emperor, I sentence you to death for your crimes. If you want to say a prayer, say it damn fast.’

Rahma’s blade rose, and once again Jina knew she was a second from her death. Before the captain could start her swing, however, a ragged shout stayed her hand.

‘Wait, Captain Rahma. Jina is . . . innocent of this crime.’

Frowning, Rahma turned to see Lameta sprawled nearby. A guardswoman knelt at the street-thief’s side, having removed the spear that had skewered her, but the guard’s grim look and the shake of her head confirmed to Rahma that Lameta would not last more than a handful of minutes.

‘What do you mean?’ she demanded of the dying girl.

With difficulty, Lameta levered herself to her elbows. Her face was streaked with sweat and blood, and her bare belly heaved as she struggled for breath. The ragged wound in her stomach still bled freely, and a river of crimson sheathed the steps beneath her feet. ‘I saw . . . what happened in Carador. I was . . . chasing Jina myself, remember? You couldn’t see from where you were standing . . . on the dock. You own woman . . . Zeta killed the blonde sergeant.’

Rahma stared at Lameta expressionlessly. ‘You lie,’ she said finally, ‘Why would my own lieutenant do such a thing?’

Lameta chuckled thickly as she sagged back to the temple steps. ‘Are you blind, Rahma? For love, of course.’

For a moment Rahma didn’t move, and Jina waited breathlessly under her booted foot, still sure that death would come at any second. Then, she gasped in relief as Rahma turned and stepped away, her head down, confused and dismayed by what she had just heard.

Painfully picking herself up, Jina moved to Lameta’s side, surprise evident on her face as she stared into the dying girl’s eyes. ‘There’s only one reason you could be here, and that’s to kill me,’ she said, ‘So why? Why tell Rahma about her lieutenant’s treachery?’

Lameta blinked in surprise, and barked a wet laugh, blood spilling from her lips. ‘You mean I guessed right? Would . . . would you believe it!’ She chuckled. ‘I didn’t know Zeta killed Henna, I just knew that Rahma . . . was about to kill you herself. And I couldn’t have that. After all, killing you is my job.’

Something punched between Jina’s ribs, and as cold flooded through her body, the gladiator could only gasp, lowering her gaze to stare at the knife Lameta had just plunged into her. When she looked back at the thief, it was to see Lameta’s eyes were staring sightlessly back at her, her face frozen in a savage grin of revenge. With a cry, Jina struggled to her feet, but fell back instantly, her legs collapsing beneath her. She rolled down the temple steps, ending up sprawled at their base, her arms spread wide, the hilt of the knife jutting up from where it skewered her through the chest. She fought for breath, her body trembling, aware of cries of alarm and shapes clustering around her. Then, a lurching pain in her chest made her back arch, and as her vision dimmed, she felt death’s hand envelop her.

*****

She came awake with a gasp, her arms flailing and her eyes frantically taking in her surroundings. She realised with surprise she was on the Sea Serpent, in what seemed to be the captain’s quarters. Then, with more considerable surprise, she realised she was alive. Her hand slapped her chest, where a hole punched through her halter attested to Lameta’s lethal blow. She stared befuddled at her unblemished skin, until Koto’s throaty laugh made her raise her head.

‘We cleaned you while you slept, Jina,’ the priestess said. She looked tired but contented, her life’s work done. ‘When myself and my sisters emerged from the temple after sealing the pit, it was to find you lifeless at the bottom of the steps.’ Koto shook her head sadly. ‘There had been too much death for one day, but all I wanted was to join my sister. My real sister, Anya. I asked Keba for her blessing as I laid my hands on you, the same way Anya did for me when she gave up her life so that I might live.’ The Ippanese girl shrugged, somewhat sadly, ‘When the ritual was complete, Keba spoke to me one last time. She said I still had work to do, so she wouldn’t let me die. She did, however, heal you.’

‘Your Goddess . . . brought me back to life?’ Jina said astounded.

Koto smiled. ‘Here, drink some water. The ship is about to leave, and I need to be away.’

Jina gratefully drank from a water-skin, then swung her legs off the bunk and experimentally got to her feet. ‘I feel . . . great,’ she said incredulously, ‘Better than I’ve felt for . . . months!’

‘That’s what resurrection does for you,’ Macha said from the door. The captain had changed into her former finery, looking fully the part of a pirate Queen. She moved to Jina’s side and grasped her forearm. ‘Glad to see you up and about. We’ll need all the hands we can muster to get this heap back to Carador.’

Out on deck, the combined pirates of Macha and Gehrak’s crews were busy readying the vessel to set sail. Jina blinked in the sunlight, looking toward the island, where pyres of bodies still burned. ‘You’re staying here?’ she asked Koto, and the Ippanese girl nodded.

‘We’ll return to our own island in time, and rebuild the tribe. For now, I suspect there’ll be some stragglers to hunt down, cultists of Dak’hra who survived the battle and tried to escape. They won’t get any mercy.’ Jina didn’t doubt it.

‘Then there’s Zeta,’ Captain Rahma appeared beside Jina, ‘Her body vanished from the temple steps. There’s no telling where she might be. I should stay . . .’

‘Your work here is done, captain,’ Koto said firmly. ‘We appreciate all you’ve done, but leave Zeta to us.’

‘She’s still alive?’ Jina asked, and Rahma nodded grimly.

‘Yes, with Dak’hra’s seed within her.’

‘And Ninoor’s blood,’ Gehrak descended from the foredeck, sweaty and ruddy-faced from helping prepare the Sea Serpent to get underway. ‘The spear that killed Ninoor went right through her and into Zeta. That can’t be good.’

Koto shook her head. ‘The blood of the ancient’s power was to bring Dak’hra to the surface, nothing more. What little remains of him within Zeta’s mortal form will be no match for Keba’s might, I assure you.’

‘Good enough for me,’ Macha extended her hand to Koto, and the Ippanese girl shook it. ‘So you’re sure about the treasure, Koto? You don’t need any of it to reform your tribe?’

‘Take it with Keba’s blessing,’ Koto said with a smile. Macha and Gehrak grinned at each other.

‘So you two are partners now?’ Jina said with surprise.

‘Temporarily,’ Gehrak said quickly. ‘We needed to combine our crews to sail back to Carador . . .’

‘Then sail back here when we’re fixed up to claim Gehrak’s treasure from her sunken wreck,’ Macha finished. ‘After that, we’ll split the loot and go our separate ways.’

‘Damn right.’

Jina laughed, but heaved a sigh as she turned to face Rahma. ‘And what of our unfinished business, captain?’

‘You’re still a murderer, Jina, and you’ll have to face justice back in Kafara,’ Rahma said stubbornly. The pirate captains stared at her in disbelief.

‘Come on, Rahma, you’ve got to be kidding,’ Macha said.

‘We save the world, and you drag her back to Kafara to execute her?’ Gehrak shook her head. ‘You’re one heartless bitch.’

Rahma shot the pirates a withering stare. ‘She’ll face justice in Kafara!’ she insisted. ‘However,’ she added hesitantly, ‘I will explain matters to Emperor Nasili, and the decision will be his as to her ultimate fate.’ Turning back towards Jina, the captain thrust a scabbard into her hand. ‘My girls found this in the rubble. Keep it until we reach Kafara.’

Delighted, Jina held up her sheathed blade, fingering the emerald set into the pommel. She made to thank Rahma, but the guard captain had already turned away to shout orders to her surviving guardswomen. Instead, Koto gripped her forearm.

‘Farewell, Jina,’ the priestess said with a smile, then turned to leave, her sisters by her side.

Within minutes the Sea Serpent was underway, now with two captains at the helm. Bald-headed Hindor patrolled the decks, yelling orders at the swarthy pirates, who burst into song as they worked, happy that the vessel was stocked with plundered treasure.

Jina stood at the stern, watching the island retreat. On shore, Koto and her girls waved a final time before turning to enter the jungle, and all that remained on the white beach were the smouldering pyres, testament to the hundreds of cultists who had died the previous day. Jina shuddered as she remembered Dak’hra attempting to emerge from the void, and hoped that Koto had sealed the portal successfully. For if nothing else, Jina could not believe Arasha had been killed by the censer that crushed her. She had heard the witch’s scream as the sphere had toppled into the abyss. It had been a scream of rage, not mortal pain.

Her thoughts turned to her own fate. Rahma was taking her back to Kafara. Back home. She wondered what awaited her there.

*****

The massed crowd roared as the sacrificial bull was slain, its blood pumping thick and red over the clean white sand. With this wanton slaughter, the games had begun.

Emperor Nasili smiled and waved to the crowd. The people liked him. He was an honest man and he showed them slaughter. It was really all they wanted. As a serving girl fed him grapes and poured him wine, Nasili watched as criminals fought for their lives against lions and bears, or were pitched against each other in a mass melee, from which only one could survive.

He turned his head as Rahma approached, his face splitting into a smile as he saw the guard captain was wearing her full armour. ‘You summoned me?’ Rahma asked haughtily.

‘Sit down, Rahma. You’re just in time.’ Nasili shifted on his seat for a better view as corpses were dragged from the bloody arena, and fresh white sand and flower petals were spread around in preparation for the next battle. ‘After all, you’re the one I have to thank for bringing Jina back. These games were rather dull without her.’

The crowd roared in approval as the gladiators emerged, three burly men from one side of the arena, a lone woman from the other. As they came together beneath Nasili’s box, the emperor’s spokesman addressed the crowd in a strident voice that stretched to every ear in the packed stands.

‘For your entertainment, a challenge fight!’ he cried. ‘Returning to the arena to do penance for her crimes against Kafara, the gladiator Jina!’ The crowd roared again as the blonde gladiator raised her sword. Dressed in her usual leather halter and boots, Jina’s skin was bronzed and oiled under the sunlight. She looked strong and healthy, and ready to fight.

‘Six months,’ Rahma said from beside Nasili, ‘You say she’ll fight once a month for six months, then you’ll let her go free?’ The captain had secretly been pleased when Nasili had decided to be lenient towards the errant gladiator, due to her recent circumstances. Now, though, Nasili only shrugged, and Rahma frowned.

‘Perhaps a year?’ he suggested. ‘The people do seem to like her, don’t they? It would be a shame to waste such a commodity.’

Rahma shook her head in disgust. ‘Twelve challenge fights such as this? She won’t last a year.’

Her eyes returned to the arena, where the fight had begun. The three male gladiators were charging Jina, who twirled her sword theatrically for the crowd and dropped easily into a fighting stance. The guard captain’s lip twitched into the semblance of a smile, knowing that her own words were false. On the arena sand, no-one could match Jina. She would earn her freedom again.

THE END?