Eye of the Heavens
Copyright© 2026 by Sandra Alek
Chapter 1
Clouds covered the sun. The tall mercenary, with a heavy axe on his shoulder, wiped the sweat from his forehead. He took a deep breath. Walking would be easier now, and the city was still about half a day away.
His female companion was tall, but she only reached his shoulder. Her body was lean and muscular, looking small next to his big, scarred frame. Her thick black ponytail swung with every step. Her hands stayed on the handles of her two curved swords.
“How much longer do we have to drag ourselves through this dust?” she grumbled.
“We’ll be there by lunch.”
“We should’ve gone to the Twelve Towers. It’s easier to find work for people like us there.”
“Everything is too expensive there.”
She threw up her hands and shook her head angrily. “What’s the difference? We don’t have a penny anyway!”
They walked in silence for a while. Then she said:
“If they don’t give us credit, you’re taking any job at the tavern. Bouncer, water boy—I don’t care. I’m not sleeping in a ditch.”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You could work, too.”
“I’ll be busy looking for a real job. One that actually pays.”
He grunted. “You haven’t been very good at that so far.”
She turned to him, looking angry, and poked him in the shoulder.
“That’s because you always get in the way! Every time I find something interesting, you show up and yell: ‘I found work, let’s go!’”
He sighed and shook his head.
“Why are you quiet? Trying to show me you’re tired of me? Well, I’m sick of your face, too. You think I’ve forgiven you?” She narrowed her eyes and gave him the finger. “One day, I’m going to slit your throat.”
He looked up at the sky. “Don’t you ever get tired of this?”
“After what you did to me?!”
“Quiet! Shut up, Hiss,” he said, raising his hand. “I hear something.”
She stopped, tilted her head to the side, and froze.
“A woman’s scream,” her eyes flashed with excitement. “A woman screaming on a lonely road always means trouble. And where there’s trouble, there’s money. Move it, Stan!” she barked at her companion, who had already sped up and was ten paces ahead of her.
Soon, they rounded a corner and saw what caused the noise.
Near a two-wheeled cart stood an old man with a short sword and a young woman. Three dirty but well-armed bandits surrounded them. Each bandit had a shield and either a spear or a longsword. They wore chainmail and tall helmets. A dead donkey lay nearby.
“Idiots!” Hiss shouted. “Why did you kill the animal?”
A broad-shouldered bandit turned around and swung his spear angrily. “Get lost! This is none of your business.”
“Help!” the girl screamed.
Stan grabbed his axe with both hands. Without slowing down, he marched toward the bandits.
“Finish them and then help me!” the leader shouted.
Two quick flashes of swords followed. The girl and the old man collapsed to the ground.
Stan reached the first bandit. He stepped to the side as the man lunged with a spear. With one swing of his axe, Stan split both the shield and the man’s body.
The other two bandits froze for a second. Then the tall one ordered his partner, “Go left!”
He moved forward slowly, hiding behind a heavy shield. Only his eyes, glowing with anger under his helmet, and his longsword were visible.
Stan stepped forward and swung from above. The bandit blocked with his shield, but the blow shattered it and knocked the man to the ground.
Stan stepped back and looked around. Hiss was circling the last bandit, striking fast. The man hid behind his shield, barely managing to block her attacks.
Stan turned back to his own opponent. He stepped forward and raised his axe. He saw terror in the doomed man’s eyes. With a loud exhale, he swung. The battle-axe knocked the opponent’s sword aside and tore through his chest. The chainmail couldn’t stop the heavy blade.
He turned to watch his partner’s fight. She couldn’t land a serious hit. Her light, fast blades just bounced off the bandit’s chainmail and helmet. She couldn’t get a clear shot at his face or legs.
“Are you going to help me or what?!” Hiss yelled.
“You won’t cut my throat if I do?”
“Not today!”
He picked up his axe and walked toward them with long strides. The bandit turned his head toward Stan. Taking advantage of the moment, Hiss stabbed the enemy in the forehead. He flinched, and blood began to cover his left eye. The bandit dropped his sword and shield, holding up his hands.
“I surrender!”
Hiss quickly slit his throat.
“For the donkey and the girl!” she said. Then she pointed her blade at Stan. “The same thing will happen to you.”
He swung his axe. “You want to try it now?”
She stepped back and flicked her blades, sending a spray of blood onto the ground. “Next time. We have work to do now.” She leaned over and cut the purse off the dead man’s belt.
Stan walked to the cart. The girl was dead. The old man was still breathing. Stan knelt beside him, unclipped a canteen from his belt, and held it to the man’s bloody lips.
The dying man looked up and whispered, “In the left boot ... deliver it...”
His eyes closed, and his breathing stopped.
The mercenary moved, pulled the boot off the dead man, and found a tightly rolled piece of parchment. It was a hand-drawn map with writing underneath. If he guarded it more than his own life, it was worth something. Stan hid it in his belt pocket.
Then, with Hiss’s help, he gathered everything valuable and put it in the cart: a spear, three swords, three suits of chainmail, four daggers, three helmets, and some small items like bronze rings and bracelets.
“At least three gold pieces!” Hiss said, rubbing her hands together. “We’re sleeping in a soft bed tonight. I’m tired of sleeping on the dirt.”
They covered the old man and the girl with rocks. The bandits were left for the wild dogs.
Stan harnessed himself to the cart and began pulling it toward the city. The sun came out from behind the clouds again, and the heat returned. Every hour, the cart felt heavier. Hiss walked easily ahead of him, her leather-clad backside swaying with every step.
At least there’s one thing worth looking at, Stan thought.
She looked back at him. “Why are you moving so slow? You’re pulling your own loot, not someone else’s.”
“You could help, you know.”
“You’re the man,” she giggled. “The heavy lifting is for you. By the way, where are we selling this stuff? At the market?”
Stan stopped to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I know a guy there. He’ll give us a fair price, no questions asked.”
“Then why are you standing there? Let’s go. I’m hungry, and I need a bath and a nap.”
At the city gates, a sleepy guard took a bronze bracelet as a toll and let them in without a word. They sold the gear and the cart for three gold pieces and five silver. Including the money from the bandits’ purses, they now had three gold, twelve silver, and fifty copper coins.
Stan rolled his shoulders with satisfaction. Carrying money on his belt felt much better than pulling a loaded cart down a broken road.
Hiss was happy, too. “Now we can take our time finding a job. No more roasted rats—we’re eating good food. Cold wine instead of rotten water, a warm bath with soap, and a soft bed ... I missed this so much! Which tavern are we going to?”
“The Roasted Rooster,” he said, pointing the way.
They soon reached a wide, two-story building with a bright sign. Inside, it was cooler and, most importantly, shady. There weren’t many customers; more than half the tables were empty. Stan walked up to the fat man behind the counter.
“A room, a bath, and dinner.”
“There are two of you. Maybe two rooms?” the owner asked hopefully.
Hiss stepped close to him. “One room, one tub, two dinners.”
“Five silver,” the man said.
Stan silently placed three silver coins on the counter and stared at the fat man.
“Well, that works too,” the owner agreed, handing over a key. “Second door on the right, upstairs. The water is hot, so you can wash up quickly. I’ll go have everything prepared.”
Hiss grabbed the key and hurried up the stairs. By the time Stan got there, she was already inside, checking out the room.
“There’s only one bed, so you’re sleeping on the floor.”
In your dreams, he thought, but he stayed quiet.
“There’s only one chest, too. I’m using it for my things.”
There was a knock at the door. Two maidservants hauled in a large wooden tub and placed it in the middle of the room. Hiss took off her bracers and leather jacket, leaving her in pants and a sleeveless shirt.
Stan stripped down to his loincloth. He sat on the bed and sighed with relief. Finally, he could rest. Even if it was only for a few days, his tired muscles and bones needed the break.
When the tub was half full, Hiss dropped the rest of her clothes.
Stan couldn’t help but stare. Her body was strong and lean—long legs, a flat stomach, and firm breasts that seemed to beg for a man’s touch. Everything about this woman was beautiful, except for her attitude.
A blissful smile appeared on her face. She stepped into the water and looked at Stan.
“Why are you just sitting there? Who’s going to wash my back?”
He grinned, quickly undressed, and climbed in with her.
“Do you need more water, or is that enough for now?” asked the maid, her face flushed from the work.
“That’s enough. Bring more later,” Hiss replied, turning her back to him. “Wash my back. I can’t reach it.”
Stan lathered his hands and began to scrub her shoulders, feeling her muscles relax under his touch. As she lifted herself slightly, he washed lower, then moved to her sides. Her ribs felt like hard knots under his fingers, and her muscles were firm. He reached around and cupped her heavy breasts. He soaped them with special care, feeling her nipples harden.
She leaned back, pressing her whole body against him. Her backside pushed into his stomach.
“I need a man, Stan. And you need a woman—I can feel it against my skin. What are you waiting for?”
He kissed her shoulder. “I was waiting for you to say that.”
He lifted her out of the tub and carried her to the bed in his arms.
“I’m on top,” Hiss declared. As soon as he lay down, she straddled him.