Chapter 2: Canvas Darkness

Note: Thanks to b0b for beta reading this!

Sven Falk

My dagger cut the second sentry’s throat. He dropped behind the warleader’s tent. I drew my hand crossbow and loaded a short quarrel. I studied the three guards at the fire. With a gasp, they gained their feet, spotting my sister’s illusions.

Two charged off after the woman. Kora knew how to entice men, especially rapist scum, with her creations. She’d find a way to dispose of them. Probably run them off a cliff as the idiots only thought with their cocks.

I aimed my hand crossbow at the third. He had big grin on his face as he adjusted himself.

The quarrel hissed through the air, catching him in the throat. He grasped at it then ripped it free. Blood flowed down his throat. He staggered for a moment before collapsing, gurgling on the ground. Grinning, I stowed my hand crossbow and focused on the gray tent.

I stalked to the back of the tent. The warleader was the true danger. The naga trained them brutally, teaching them how to fight, how to give pain, and how to endure it. Some even learned dread arts, magics that manipulated shadows. My heart beat faster as I pressed my knife against the tent’s canvas while listening.

Snoring. Deep and rumbling. The warleader slept.

Perfect.

The dagger’s sharp tip pierced the canvas with a rasping whisper. With patience, I cut down, working through the thick cloth. My knife whisked. I paused after each sawing stroke, listening to the snoring. It stayed the same. Inch-by-inch, my blade sliced downward, making my entrance into the tent.

Finished, the cloth swayed, loose.

I crept through the hole and crouched just inside. Movement froze me. In the corner, a form uncurled, painted in the light from a small lantern hanging from the tent’s frame at its apex. A pale-skinned female body sat up, bushy hair spilling about narrow shoulders. A pair of triangular ears, tawny like her hair, thrust up at the top of her head and twitched like a cat’s. A face stared at me, golden eyes slitted. A lamia. Her slitted eyes fixed on me, keen vision noticing me.

Then they flicked to the sleeping, snoring man.

The warleader slept naked atop his blankets, his body a dusky brown and so muscled his veins stood out against his skin. A shaved head gleamed in the lantern light. A black mustache, the ends long and drooping down to his chin, adorned a squat and chiseled face.

The lamia shook her head in warning, an iron slave collar tight about her throat. She mouthed, “Run.”

I winked at her.

I crept closer to the sleeping warleader. A glint to my right drew my attention. In an open chest, sitting upon rumpled clothing, lay a necklace of braided gold with a ruby, the size of a chicken’s egg and reflecting light across its cut facets, attached at the end.

My heart almost stopped beating. I’d never seen a ruby so big before. Without thought, I snatched it up, holding it before my eyes. A deep crimson bled out of the depth of the stone, growing lighter on the edges as the light shone on it.

Kora would look so beautiful wearing it.

The lamia moved, crouching low. Her tawny tail flicked too and fro. She looked like a human woman, small and petite, with cat ears, eyes, and a tail. Cum stained her thighs, used by her owner before he had fallen asleep.

“He’ll kill you,” she mouthed again.

I grinned at her, pocketing the amulet, hefted my dagger, and winked again.

Her head cocked to the side. Her brows furrowed. She stuck a tongue out between her lips. Nipples hardened atop her small breasts. Her fingers bit into the bedding she lay on as I advanced on her owner.

His broad chest lay stretched out before me, rising and falling with his snores. I knelt, raised my dagger, and aimed at his heart.

Stabbed.

The man’s dark eyes snapped opened. His hand seized my wrist in a crushing grip.

“Pater’s cock,” I swore, pain flaring up my wrist. My hand spasmed open, the dagger falling down, stabbing into the warleader’s bedding beside him.

“Thief,” growled the man, a brutal smile spreading across his lips.

My booted foot lashed out, slamming into his side.

He didn’t even grunt.

I cried out as he twisted my arm. My knees buckled, my wrist twisting in ways Slata didn’t intend when the Goddess created humans in her womb. Tears burned in my eyes. I snarled, drawing another dagger in my left hand, stabbing.