Sword of the Saints: Sinner Chapter Seventeen

“My goodness, just…  goodness!  I mean—my my!  Unbelievable, just unbelievable!  If my mother could have seen she’d…  she’d,” Rina gushed, percolating upwards upon bubbling heels of lethally honed ungula.  “I mean my god!  My gods!  I confess I’ve seen a man killed before, mostly executions; I’ve even seen a guard struck down in the fullness of his youth in equal combat, but that was utterly baseless.  There’s no other was to describe it.”  She stopped dead in her tracks, and the inexorable tug on his shoulder necessarily stopped him, as he struggled to remain upright without betraying his sudden weakness.  Before he could find his bearings his shoulders thundered involuntarily upwards, his rising lips crashing like the very tides upon her own, as she commenced to consume the whole of his lips and run her slithering tongue playfully about the gates of his esophagus, as if something deeply erotic.

His eyes locked with her own, as he struggled to wipe clean his face of her maw’s digestive secretions but succeeded only in smearing the whole of his countenance in the musk of her erotic display, as she rejoined, giggling like a schoolgirl, “Time enough later to mark yourself.  Goodness gracious me what a time.  And besides!  And besides!  You have to tell me.  You make it look so easy, so thoroughly easy; don’t whisper this to my bodyguards, but I have the fullest confidence they’d prove in no way your equal.  Just how do you make it look so easy?  I’ve never seen a man killed like that before; I’m not sure anyone has, and so much it was a shock to them that their hands quivered like grain in a bluster.  Slaughtered to a man before the magistrate-men could even arrive for inspection.  Barsica is flying high today!  High indeed!”

“They weren’t soldiers,” Arius grumbled, as if spitting out bile from between his teeth.  “They were assassins inasmuch as I’m an honest man,” he whispered malevolently, “abounding in the blisters that plague these so-called ‘Ivederenghoi.’  He only paused inasmuch as the strangely alien spectacle of the magnificent dome strode further into view arriving with every bounding step an iota further, and he shortly continued, “Their blades were rusty, in more ways than one.  It was no issue; it was no struggle.”

“Oh but surely you’re just being modest.  There were a score or more of them and the bare three of us!”

“A throng of people is no more an army than a collection of building materials a house.”

“Philosophy?” she quizzed.

“Something my mother used to say.”