Free The Black Gods War by Moses Siregar

to Duilio’s aid. The Strategos lay on his back mumbling. He tried to stand but fell sideways.
    She knelt beside him and touched her black-gloved hand to his forehead. “Cosimo and Ysa saved us, Strategos.” She could barely hear herself speaking; her ears were nearly deaf from the explosion. More aftershocks jostled them and for a moment she lost her balance.
    Duilio smiled. The right side of his head was a mass of blood. “Lucia, go. We need your goddess.”
    She kissed Duilio’s forehead. “Keep thinking of Lord Cosimo.”
    She left the soldiers and warpriests to tend to the Strategos and mounted Albina again. Arrows continued knifing her soldiers. Pawelon’s front line held strong. Though the enemy forces were greatly outnumbered, because of their trickery they were on the verge of routing her army.
    Ysa, I beg you, protect us now, before we all perish. I want to see my brother again. And if this is a dream, let me know now. She drew the sword from its scabbard and held it at her mare’s right side. She pulled her shield closer to her body, squeezing the leather-covered metal grip. Ysa, please …
    Every warrior in the valley cowered as the goddess’s thunder detonated and assaulted their ears. The boom rolled around them, like a coiling sonic snake. It tumbled, turned in all directions, rose and fell wildly.
    Yet to Lucia’s traumatized ears, the thunder sounded muffled. She turned her head sideways and observed her kingdom’s frightened warriors.
    Go to them , she heard an inner voice, a firm-sounding woman. Then give yourself to me .
    She yelled and spurred Albina into motion, then headed toward the violence at what felt like an impossible speed. Many soldiers and warpriests tried to keep up with her, but their horses fell behind. Her vision went blurry, head throbbing and dizzy.
    Without warning, her mare stopped and Lucia pitched onto the compacted ground, her shoulders and head scraping along the desert floor. As she lay recovering for a moment, a burst of intuition told her Ysa’s armor and helm had prevented serious injuries. She willed herself to stand without knowing where she was and raised Ysa’s sword and shield in self-defense.
    The sword vibrated powerfully enough to nearly make her arm numb.
    Nearby, a band of Pawelons marched forward, using their spears to drive a group of Rezzian soldiers back. The Pawelons’ uniforms were dark blue, their skin deep shades of brown. She hadn’t intended to come this close to the fighting. A tall Pawelon surged forward and thrust his spear through a Rezzian’s shield, into his chest.
    The rangy Pawelon spotted her. His snarl deepened as he raced toward her.
    With gusty winds eddying around them, she raised her shield arm barely in time to deflect the spear. As the soldier’s momentum carried him off balance, she stabbed the blade across her body and into his chest.
    They both screamed, and the Pawelon fell and grabbed her legs. She jumped backward and watched the man clutch his wound. The blade still sent tremors through her body.
    She looked down. The white metal dripped with his blood.
    She had no time to grasp what she had done before the clouds literally fell down like a sagging belly over Pawelon’s forces. The midday shadows were like night, and the temperature plummeted to freezing. Gusting winds swept waves of hail toward the Pawelon troops, overtaking their arrows for command of the air.
    She heard the woman’s voice again in her ear: Surrender to the ancient implements. Control the storm.
    Some buried instinct took over. Her muscles softened and her heart warmed. Every hair on her body stood straight up as an awesome power coursed through her. She began to feel the storm so profoundly that the boundary between her spirit and the sky dissolved. Was she directing the weather, or was it directing her?
    She felt the tempest responding to her, and the more she allowed herself to welcome it, the more aggressively it pounded the Pawelon forces with