The Eighth Hell

By Guy Estes

None who have gone to the Shingora ever returned ... until now.

Despite the danger, the trade guilds sent an expedition to the Shingora, believing the island was a wellspring of natural resources. Only one man returned, as a gibbering madman. Now the guilds are sending a new expedition, three hundred strong and armed for war, to search for any survivors ... but on the Shingora, everything kills. Among the expedition are Aleena, gifted by the gods in war, and her sister Baezha, gifted by the gods in magic.

But while battling all the Shingora’s perils, a traitor threatens the company from within. The sisters will be tested as they’ve never been tested before ... and even those Chosen by the gods have their breaking point.

Though listed as book 3 in a series, this is a stand-alone novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guy Estes
• Release date: Dec 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005216955

Guy Estes

Guy Estes was born in Huntsville, Alabama in 1970 and grew up on his family's ancestral home in New Iberia, Louisiana, where he currently resides with his family. His grandchildren are the eighth generation of his family to grow up on the place, which was occupied by Union troops during the Civil War. He has a BA in social studies education and an MA in European history. His day job is an instructor at a small safety consultation company. He taught public school for three years and, as a result, no longer fears hell.

Book preview

THE EIGHTH HELL

Book 3 of Sisters of the Storm

By Guy Estes

Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death. – Miyamoto Musashi

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. – Theodore Roosevelt

...talent and genius operate outside the rules, and theory conflicts with practice. – Karl von Clausewitz

Chapter 1

It’s rather unnerving when you have the impossible staring you in the face. By all the known laws of nature, the creature shouldn’t exist, and yet, there it stood, in flagrant disregard for the facts, its alien gaze enveloping the two men. It further stymied all logic when its friends emerged from the dark cavern to join it. A light stone in the cave wall provided eerie illumination to the surreal scene.

Are we the last ones? Gannon asked, not taking his eyes off the bizarre things staring at them. They stared back, unmoving.

No, Yorgrim answered. Some of our comrades yet live. They’re scattered throughout these damned caves.

What about Rork and his people? Did they get away?

Aye, the big man said with a nod. They did. Now we’ve got to buy them as much time as possible and recover our lost companions. Are you with me, lad?

Where else could I be but at the side of Yorgrim Bladebiter?

Yorgrim smiled through his yellow beard.

You’re a good man to have in a tight spot, Gannon, he said, clapping the young man on the shoulder.

Praise from a warrior of Yorgrim’s esteem banked some of Gannon’s fears. Yorgrim’s easy confidence was warm reassurance, like a fire warming a sentry on a cold night. The nightmares staring at them started moving towards them.

Now, Yorgrim said, hefting his sword, let us give these bastards a proper reception.

Gannon readied his sword.

Wouldn’t want to be lax in our hospitality, would we?

Yorgrim chuckled.

You are your father’s son, Gannon Thane, that’s certain.

Ganon again beamed under the hero’s praise. The abominations halted, gazing at the two men. The things didn’t snarl or growl or shriek. They uttered no sound when they charged, their unnatural silence more terrible than any cry.

* * *

If the sailors had known what salvaging the derelict would set in motion, they would’ve burned her down to the waterline rather than board her.

It lurched out of the east with its sails hanging limp, its halting progress like that of a wounded animal. The sailors watched, but she was too far away for any of them to make out her name, nor did they see anyone on her decks. The sky was grey above the Primean Ocean’s midnight depths, lending an ominous air to the day. The approaching vessel did nothing to improve the somber mood.

We’ve little enough to show for this voyage, the captain said. A salvage would cure that right enough.

They prepared a boarding party, which included the captain and the ship’s physician. By the time they completed their preparations, the other ship had drifted much closer. They lowered a longboat and rowed over to her, hailing the ship as they approached, but they got no response. Her sails were limp but in good condition. As they came along side, they saw her name, Lady Katherine.

They tossed up ropes with grappling hooks, catching them on the Lady Katherine’s rails, and climbed aboard. The first ones on deck drew their weapons – short curved swords – and formed a perimeter for the others. Once they were all aboard, they divided into groups of four and searched the ship for any sign of what might have happened. Two groups descended below deck while two more stayed topside.

Like they just disappeared, one of them said, shaking his head.

Sorcery? another speculated

Don’t know.

Look here, another man said, pointing at numerous cuts in the railing, where the wood bore dark stains.

Blows from an axe, I should think.

Blood? someone asked. Two thers bent close and studied it.

Like no blood I’ve ever seen, one said. It’s green."

"They also saw gouges on parts of the railing, across the deck, and around the mast, running in serpentine trails, accompanied by some sort of pale, crusty residue.The smallest of these trails was as wide as a man’s hips; it was like a giant had blown his nose and wiped it along the scratches. Their faces paled and horror welled in their eyes as they realized what these signs meant. Any sailor would.

Steady, lads, one of the older sailors finally said. The slime’s crusted up. The thing is long gone. If it was still here, it’d have taken us by now.

His calm words reassured them a bit, but they still wanted to get off this ship.

The group below deck made slow but steady progress. In one hand, each man held his sword. In the other, each held a light stone, enchanted gems that lit up when rubbed and were extinguished the same way. They found the cargo in order. The cabins bore signs of human habitation; clothes lying about, chests, a few game boards with pieces in place, dice, drinking cups. One room had a meal still set out, and while the food had gone rancid, it was otherwise in such perfect order one would expect the owner to walk in at any moment. The group searching the forward portion of the ship found a closed door near the bow. Every compartment they’d searched, but they’d also been open. Swords held ready, one of them looked to the others. They nodded. He pushed the door open.

It swung open and revealed a small empty space, little more than a closet, where a few odds and ends lay about. In the corner farthest from them was what they first took to be a pile of bits of sail, but a few moments of inspection revealed it was a man, his clothes ragged. He quivered where he lay, and he breathed in whimpering gasps, his huge eyes darting around.

Easy, there, mate, one of the sailors told him. It’s a;; right. We’re here to help you.

The wretch looked at them, but he said nothing.

Go tell the cap’n, and fetch the physician.

A sailor hurried off.

Come on, then, let’s get you out of here and over to our ship. How’s for some hot food and a bit of rum, hey?

The man refused to come out of his corner. Nor did he ever speak. After a while, the physician joined them.

There he is, just like we found him. He hasn’t said a word.

The physician slowly moved forward to examin the man.

It’s all right. I’m a physician. May I look you over for any injuries?

The man said nothing. He just looked at the physician with large, terrified eyes. The physician kept reassuring him, his hands moving slowly as he examined the man. Finally he sat back. By then the captain and his party had joined them. They searched the ship bow to stern and keel to weatherdeck, but they hadn’t found anyone else. The captain had found the ship’s log but he hadn’t had the time to read anything other than the final entry, which simply noted wind, weather, and that the crew had been spectacularly relieved to be underway.

He carries no plague I can see, the physician said. He’s malnourished and dehydrated, but those are easily cured. His mind, however…

The physician shook his head. The captain stepped forward and knelt next to the man.

What is your name? What happened to the rest of the crew?

The man wouldn’t look at him. He trembled, his hands drawn up to his chest. After several false starts, he managed to squeak out a single word.

Shingora.

The sailors frowned and looked at each other. They all knew and dreaded that name.

What about it?

The man shook his head slightly, his huge eyes gazing on something distant.

It is the eighth hell, he said in a falsetto whisper. No one escapes the eighth hell… no one escapes…

He trembled, his huge eyes darting around, and whimpered.

We’ll get nothing from him until he’s had time to recover, the physician said.

Right, the captain said with a sigh as he stood. He carries no illness. Let’s get him back to our ship, then get a crew over here to sail her back with us. She’s well enough provisioned, so we won’t be hurtin’ after this voyage a’tall.

As they returned to the weather deck, the sailors up there pointed out the trails of encrusted scratches.

Bathoseth and Pelora, the captain whispered, calling on the god and goddess of the sea while making a sign for protection. The rest of the crew did likewise.

Let us get back to port, the sooner the better.

Aye, aye.

Chapter 2

Delium was a large port city on the east coast of the continent of Veshtar and part of the Artisan League. The vast Primean Ocean stretched off to the east. Aleena Kurrin and Baezha Ambrose had ridden into the city late in the previous afternoon. This morning they were meeting with potential employers at one of the larger inns and arrived to find it quite crowded.

My gods, Baezha said, I had no idea so many people would answer the advertisement.

The guilds are sponsoring the expedition, Aleena answered. Everyone knows they will pay well.

They got in one of several lines and eventually worked their way up to a man seated at a table. They gave him their names and the positions they were applying for and he recorded them. Later, they were called to different areas of the inn. Aleena was applying for a warrior’s position while Baezha was applying as a sorceress, so they were interviewed by different guild councilors. Aleena eventually found herself in a large room with other applicants. On one side of the room was a table at which three people, two men and a woman, sat. Each applicant was taken one at a time to stand before the table and be interviewed while barmaids circulated throughout the room, bringing food and drink.

Aleena studied the other applicants. The warrior currently being interviewed was a big man with an exaggerated physique Aleena found somewhat ridiculous. He looked as if various parts of his body were blowing bubbles. He had thick hair that was dark and wavy, and a neat, trim beard and moustache. A falchion with a brass basket hilt hung from his belt in a weathered scabbard.

You are Dylan of Hersa, one of the councilors said. He was a trim man with dark hair neatly barbered and brown eyes. Though he was clean-shaven, Aleena could see he had a heavy beard.

I am, the man replied, smiling. Aleena paid closer attention. She’d heard that name before.

My name is Bertard. I’m a councilor on the jewelers’ guild. This is Geron, a counselor on the fight masters’ guild, and his wife Cora. What do you know about this job?

That you’re raising a party to search for another party that went into the Shingora and disappeared, though this is hardly the first time that’s ever happened.

Perhaps not, but it is the first time several members of the missing party were children of wealthy guild members, one of whom was the son of Geron and Cora. You have, of course, heard about the Shingora?

It is reputed to be the most dangerous place in the world.

Yes. And what does that mean to you?

All the more chance for glory.

What makes you so confident? Cora, asked. She had straight white hair that just reached the base of her neck, though as Aleena looked at her she saw Cora wasn’t as old as her hair made her look. She had dark eyes and black narrow brows and was richly dressed.

You recognized me on sight. You know who I am and you know of my deeds. I dared to travel the demon-haunted forests alone. As a result, they are no longer demon-haunted. I put an end to a seven year reign of terror by the ogres in the western provinces. I defended the villages in the Rotahn province from bandit tribes.

It is said you overcame an ogre in single combat, empty handed. Some said you matched its strength.

He gave them a roguish smile.

So you’ve heard the tales of my deeds. You know damn well how valuable I’d be on this venture.

Apparently, they agreed. They handed him a contract, which he signed. The next man interviewed was a stark contrast to Dylan. He was lean, with lightly tanned skin and a shaved head. Dense stillness filled the space around him. He had dark, narrow eyes, his brows thin. His overall bearing made Aleena think of a cobra – his manner was quiet and still, yet one look at him left no doubt he was a dangerous animal. His armor was black lacquered leather. A long sword and a short sword were thrust through his sash.

That is a man not to be trifled with, Aleena thought.

He answered the questions presented to him in a voice too quiet for Aleena to hear. When the interview was done, they handed him a contract. He took it and read it, his face inscrutable, then signed it. He handed it back to them with a curt nod, turned and left. A few others were interviewed, about half of whom were hired. Then it was Aleena’s turn.

They spent a moment appraising her as she stood before them. She was six feet tall, with honey blonde hair that curled gently down between her shoulder blades and eyes like storm clouds. She wore a new set of armor her father had made and Baezha had enchanted. It was plate, fitting her well enough to accurately portray her abdominal muscles, while the areas plates couldn’t cover were protected by scales small and finely wrought, like a serpent’s, a skirt of which protected her hips. Its finish was red-gold with black tiger stripes. She was armed with a double bladed battle axe, Shearbat, sheathed on her back and a longsword, Firethorne, she carried in her hand, also sheathed.

Mistress Aleena Kurrin, Bertard said with a sigh as he studied a scroll.

Yes.

Your sister is Baezha Ambrose, Geron said. He had blond hair and a neat beard and moustache, giving him a somewhat leonine look. Is she also applying for a position on this venture?

Yes.

I assume one of you is adopted, Cora said, since you have different family names.

My family took Baezha in a few years ago. She and I are both Chosen. We were born at the same moment, during the same storm. We are the only two in the world. Our kinship transcends mere blood.

Chosen, Cora mused. You’re certainly beautiful enough to be.

While some say the Chosen are blessed by the gods, Bertard said with narrowed eyes, others say they are agents of chaos.

Aleena shrugged. People can judge me based on my actions or based on their prejudices. I can only control the former.

And what major gift did the gods grant you? Cora asked, referring to one of two gifts all Chosen had.

The art of war.

And your sister’s?

Sorcery.

That would indeed be useful in this venture. Still, the Chosen are vanishingly rare. How do we know you truly are Chosen?

We will submit to examination by the sorcerer of your choice. I imagine the ones interviewing Baezha will be able to confirm it.

It is said that multiple Chosen living at once is a harbinger of doom.

Baezha and I get on well enough.

I seem to recall hearing about a third Chosen.

We had a brother, Anlon. His gift was the same as mine. He wasn’t strong enough to master himself. We met in the arena, and though I defeated him, I spared him.

So what happened?

I was content to leave him in peace, but when he threatened to march his army on my homeland, I sought him out at his fortress and fought him a final time.

And this time you didn’t spare him.

No, Aleena said, looking Cora right in the eyes. I did not repeat that mistake. It was on that quest that I met Baezha.

Geron nodded.

You and Baezha have both established solid reputations for guarding the trade caravans, he said. Indeed, it is said that bandits have avoided caravans you were known to be guarding. Some are calling you the Death Queens.

Aleena raised an eyebrow.

Are they? I hadn’t heard that one.

Some of the merchants running the caravans say you’re rather… independent.

Aleena shrugged. I suppose that depends on one’s definition of independent.

Disobedient, Bertard said, somewhat impatient. You’ve been known to defy orders.

Because the orders, coming from a merchant completely ignorant of battle, were suicidal.

Perhaps you assume too much?

A merchant trying to command me in battle makes as much sense as me telling him how to market his wares. When I am hired to do a job, I am honor bound to do that job to the best of my ability. They hired me to guard them, not jeopardize them.

And obeying orders from someone ignorant of war would jeopardize the caravan you were hired to protect, Geron said.

Exactly.

You command the militia in your region, Bertard said, reading a scroll. Which one was it?

Sharleah, Aleena answered, in the Kerdonia Province.

How is it you are not a member of the fight masters’ guild? Geron asked.

I don’t teach fighting. Caravan escorts aren’t required to be guild members.

Some have noticed that a number of people, like you and your sister, are making a good living through escorting caravans, bounty hunting, and other similar jobs for private employers. You’ve no doubt heard about the formation of an adventurers’ guild.

I have.

You don’t seem terribly thrilled with the idea, Bertard said.

Aleena sighed. I generally prefer to go my own way. Other people tend to… complicate things.

So you don’t want to join the adventurers’ guild? Geron asked.

I’d rather not.

You may not have any choice, Bertard said.

We shall see.

Of course, Geron said, the whole thing may be rendered moot, depending on the outcome of this expedition.

Oh? Aleena said, but Geron didn’t elaborate.

You and your sister were involved in some goings-on in Oleppo not so long ago, Bertard said. Every time he spoke to her, Aleena thought he sounded a bit like an inquisitor reading a list of potential charges.

Yes.

Some say the two of you toppled Oleppo’s government.

We exterminated the Watchers, a secret society oppressing Oleppo. The city’s official government was left untouched by us. It was the Watchers who meddled with it.

And what prompted your going to Oleppo? Geron asked.

It was Baezha’s home town. Her family was murdered when she was a girl. We discovered the Watchers and a group of sorcerers called the Order of Entropy were behind it. The Watchers were a group of anti-magic fanatics, and the Order of Entropy was allied with them.

And you sorted it out.

We did.

You were a gladiatrix, Bertard said, again with a slightly accusatory edge to his voice.

Yes. Against my will, I might add.

"You’ve been credited by some with extraordinary feats of strength. Do you take potions?

No, the only potions I’ve ever taken were healing potions. I once ate a dragon’s heart. The result was gaining the dragon’s strength and constitution. The problem is that it is not constant. It isn’t with me right now. Nor can I call it up at will. Sometimes it appears when I don’t need it, and sometimes it does not appear when I have desperate need. It comes and goes as it pleases, like the weather.

So you can’t give us a demonstration now.

No.

Convenient. Strength potions would be more reliable.

And enslaving. I’ve seen warriors who start taking potions to enhance their strength or speed. Soon, they can’t function without them, and when they’re deprived of them they all but implode. No, I’ll not place that collar on my neck. I achieve my deeds under my own power.

Is not the strength of the dragon relying on an outside source? Bertard asked with raised eyebrow.

I got it by eating a dragon’s heart, which the dragon did not surrender willingly. The strength was a prize won fair and hard.

So, without the strength of the dragon, how strong are you?

When I returned from defeating my brother I could lift thirty stone. After our excursion in Oleppo, I could lift thirty-five.

Bertard studied her for a few moments, skepticism narrowing his eyes.

How much do you weigh?

Fifteen stone.

His eyes narrowed more and the corners of his mouth turned down at the idea of a one hundred fifty pound woman lifting three hundred fifty pounds.

Mistress Kurrin, do you honestly expect us to believe you can lift more than twice your weight? Most men would have trouble with thirty-five stone, never mind a woman. If you’re going to lie to us, at least do us the courtesy of a believable lie.

A jet of outrage squirted through her heart. She understood their need to be thorough in their hiring process, but she didn’t appreciate Bertard calling her a liar when she honestly answered his question.

You asked me a question, Master Bertard. I gave you my answer. Do with it as you will.

Can you prove it?

If I must.

You will.

Bertard studied her like a teacher deciding if he should believe a student’s excuse.

How is it, he finally asked, that one with your talent and accomplishments is content to escort trade caravans? You’re Chosen, after all, with nearly inhuman ability and flawless, incorruptible beauty, both of which you could use to ascend to considerable heights.

Such a life would involve all manner of constant game playing. I detest games. No, I much prefer to keep things simple.

You’re saying you value simplicity over wealth and influence? Bertard asked with cocked eyebrow.

That’s what I’m saying, she said with a nod. She kept her tone civil, but her patience with Bertard was all but spent. I despise complications and prefer to keep my life as free of them as possible.

Bertard continued to study her through narrowed eyes.

Do you think you can get along with the other members of the party? Geron asked.

Aleena gave it some thought.

Are any of them slave traders?

I don’t know. We haven’t completed all the interviews yet. If one was?

I could not get along with him.

I understand you hatred for slavers, Mistress Kurrin, having once been in their possession, but it is vital to this expedition’s success that we have harmony. You must promise, or we cannot hire you.

I’m sorry, but I cannot make that promise. If I am around a slaver, I’ll likely kill him where he stands. Slave traders aside, I’m completely harmless unless provoked.

More nodding. Then Geron spoke.

You’ve quietly and reliably done your job guarding caravans, defeating all who attacked them, yet you’ve shown no desire to conquer or dominate anyone. You guarded and aided your sister in her quest for vengeance, liberating a city in the process. You showed your brother clemency, but when he threatened those you love you went straight at him and defeated him in the midst of his very stronghold. And throughout this entire interview, where it would behoove you to sing your praises, you have not boasted, despite all the titles you’ve earned – Mistress of Blades, Battle Queen, Lady Scorpion, Sword Maiden and Tigress of Sharleah. And you and your sister are now known as the Death Queens. You’ve answered our questions simply and directly. And you refused to make a promise you weren’t sure you could keep, even when pressed to do so.

He stopped to look at the other two, then returned his gaze to Aleena.

Mistress Kurrin, I think you are precisely the sort of person this company needs. Here is the contract. He handed her a parchment. Look it over. If it’s to your satisfaction, sign it.

The terms were entirely agreeable. Aleena signed it.

At the end of the day, Geron told her, once we’re done, we’ll speak to all we hire, so don’t wander.

* * *

Baezha stood before three people at a table, two men and a woman. They spent a moment appraising her. Baezha stood as tall as Aleena. She had hair of midnight that fell straight down her back, large, anthracite eyes, and a fair complexion. She wore plate armor of necronian steel, metal with a naturally glossy black finish, molded to her too perfectly to be anything but enchanted. Her enchanted longsword Darkthorne, also of necronian steel and with a crossguard shaped like stag horns, was sheathed on her back. Her black recurve bow, Nightfall, was also slung on her back. They asked many of the same questions Aleena’s interviewers had. And, like Aleena’s interviewers, they asked questions specific to her.

Mistress Ambrose, the woman said, My name is Kass. This is Kurx. We are councilors on the sorcerers’ guild. Flynn, she nodded at the third person, a young man with red hair and a beard, is on the alchemists’ guild. Kurx and I can clearly see you are Chosen. As far as anyone knows, you are the first one to have magic as her major gift. You are applying for this venture as a sorceress, yet you’re armed.

Magic cannot conquer every foe, and my minor gift is the arts of war.

The arts of magic and war. A powerful combination. You naturally use combative magic.

Yes.

Which do you favor, archer or swordsman?

There are two basic approaches to combative magic. With archer, the sorcerer had a number of prepared spells, like an archer with arrows in a quiver. Once those spells were used up, the sorcerer was finished, just like an archer running out of arrows. With swordsman, the sorcerer had only a few spells, usually no more than three, that he was absolute master of and could use whenever he wished, like a swordsman drawing and using his sword. The first approach had the advantage of versatility while the second had the advantage of simplicity. Advanced sorcerers could combine the two. Baezha was talented and strong enough to not need any prepared spells at all. She could conjure them on the spot.

I never saw the point in limiting myself, Baezha replied.

You’re implying you don’t use prepared spells for combat.

I’m saying I don’t need them.

You wear no talisman, Kurx said. Sorcerers usually needed to carry a power source with them, a talisman. Natural sources of magic – strings – were of varying power and availability.

I once accessed a repository of magical power and drew it into myself. Consequently, I need no talisman.

Many sorcerers have tried that over the ages, Kass told her. None succeeded.

Baezha gave a small, almost apologetic shrug.

None of them were Chosen.

Tell us about Oleppo, Flynn said.

She did, which involved her telling them about her battle with the Order of Entropy. The one who then spoke, Kurx, had short grey hair and dark, intense eyes that stared from within boney rings. His voice was a soft purr, yet it conveyed power.

The sorcerers of the Order of Entropy are not to be trifled with, yet you not only slew their leader but also five of their highest ranking members. Word is they still haven’t recovered from the blow you dealt them. Have you any other intentions regarding them?

I’ve certainly no love or trust for the Order of Entropy, but so long as they leave me and mine in peace, I’ll return the courtesy. I’ve done for those with whom I had a quarrel.

How is it you are not a member of our guild?

I make no profit from sorcery, other than when I use it on jobs such as this or escorting the caravans.

Do you think you will be able to get along with the other members of this company?

Probably.

He nodded, then continued.

Mistress Ambrose, you are an enormously gifted sorceress. You’ve great achievements behind you, and I sense that you’ve grown and flowered with every challenge you’ve met. You’ve earned numerous titles – Raveneye, Witch Queen, Shadow Mistress, Battle Witch… Night Mare. And you and your sister are now called the Death Queens. Judging by all of this, you are formidable, to say the least. Yet you do not make displays of your great power. You do not meddle with the laws of nature, as some in our field do. Power, it seems, has not corrupted you. Neither has beauty. In short, Mistress Ambrose, you are a fine example of everything a witch or wizard should be, and exactly who we want on our little endeavor. Look this contract over and sign it if it is acceptable.

It was and she did.

The sisters met in the inn’s tavern after their interviews. There was still a large crowd of applicants milling about, either waiting to be interviewed or waiting to hear what the councilors had to say to those they did hire.

Well, Aleena said, it appears we have some time on our hands. I knew I should’ve brought a book.

Two familiar faces caught her eye. Aleena waved. Baezha looked and saw she was waving at two Durganian Amazons, people of the steppes west of the Ophirees Mountains. They waved back and threaded through the crowd towards them.

Beka. Oksana, Aleena greeted them. They extended hands and grasped each other’s forearms in the standard Amazon salutation. Baezha did likewise.

It is good to see you again, Baezha said, though I didn’t expect you here.

We had some spare time, Beka said with a shrug. Her blonde hair was straight and cut short, stopping just above the base of her neck. Her large ice blue eyes had the vertical slit pupils characteristic of all Amazons. Oksana’s hair was the same length and texture as Beka’s, but it was the color of dark bronze and her eyes were amber. Both of them were scouts, elites of the Amazonian army. They stood about six inches shorter than Baezha and Aleena. They wore drab tunics and trousers, and corslets of lamellar armor. Hand axes were tucked in their belts and Amazonian fighting knives were sheathed on their hips. Despite their trim size, a Durganian Amazon was as strong as a human man.

Spare time, Baezha prodded.

We were ordered to take some leave. It’s standard practice after one has served a certain period.

And this is how you spend your leave?

We are bored and broke, Oksana said.

I know the councilors are wealthy, Aleena said, looking around at the crowd, but surely they don’t mean to hire all of these people.

No, Beka said, but I understand they mean to hire many.

They’ve some culling to do, Oksana said. Half of these people have never seen battle in their lives.

Nothing beyond a tavern brawl.

They found a corner table when another woman joined them.

Fancy meeting you here, she said. Aleena and Baezha looked at her.

Aunt Sabia! Aleena said, embracing her. Baezha followed.

This is my Aunt Sabia, Aleena said, introducing her to the Amazons. This is Beka, and this is Oksana. Aunt Sabia is my mother’s sister. She’s a member in high standing of the consorts’ guild.

Sabia was almost as tall as Aleena, slender and elegant, with long silky brunette hair and crystal blue eyes.

What are you doing here? Aleena asked.

This expedition means to go in style and comfort. They put out a call for consorts. They’re paying well, so I thought I’d give it a go. I haven’t been on the sea in some years.

They sat down at their table and a barmaid came for their drink orders. Aleena ordered red ale. The others ordered wine.

You’ve acquired new armor, Sabia said to Aleena. Your father forged it, of course.

Of course.

Finished to fit your title of Tigress of Sharleah?

Aleena chuckled.

It’s silly, I know, but I’m rather fond of that title.

Enchanted, Beka said, else it would not conform to you so closely.

By Baezha, Aleena said as she nodded. I got an idea for armor that could replace a lost weapon.

Is it as durable as your other suit? Oksana asked.

It is. And, like my other suit, this one can repair itself if it is damaged.

How does it replace a lost weapon?

Aleena held up her arm and, at her mental command, a sharp serrated ridge formed on the vambrace on her forearm as they watched. Spikes grew from the shoulders.

Should I lose my weapons, I can produce more.

I must say, Oksana said with a smile that revealed wicked porcelain fangs, the other physical trait of her species, I am envious.

Raucous laughter erupted near them. They looked and saw Dylan making his way through the room, surrounded by other men. He was wearing a tight sleeveless shirt split so far down the front it was nearly a vest, displaying his distended muscles in all their hulking splendor. Barmaids swirled around him, like cats rubbing against a man’s legs, something Aleena found puzzling. While she liked a handsome man who kept himself in shape, Dylan had taken