Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 19

Author's Notes:

Hey there! If this is your first time checking out the series, you shouldn't have any problem figuring out where things stand with this chapter/volume, but if you like what you read, please consider taking a look at the first chapter (also on this site and my account).

This chapter was brought to you by the very generous donations and patronage of fans of the series who help me buy food and warm socks so I can write smut for you!

These wonderful people are the reason you're reading this, so please give them a thanks!

Tristan

Alonsis

Asmund Bell

Apothecary29

David A.

Orodreth

Drawkward

*****

Volume 3 Chapter 3

3 – Let the Hunt Begin

Briee was quiet; careful. She stayed at a distance, yo-yoing between a hundred paces and almost triple that. The pounding rain that tore through the dense canopy of trees did a lot to mask her scent, it even helped with some of the noise as she stumbled through the thick brambles and gnarled roots of a forest still trying to claim whatever tiny slivers of untouched earth remained.

She was sure that the humans, slowed now by rain and the slurry of mud that had filled in the feeble 'road' parting the woods, would see her. But despite being in field plate and carrying her shield and sword, neither the humans or the lycan pack seem to pick up on her scent or the noise she made trudging through the mess of vegetation.

The hunt was always to one's preferred skill set. Her father's children lived and, occasionally, died by those restrictions innate to any pact. They were expected to carry out their hunts in a prescribed manner, as though they were some kind of mindless automaton. It was ridiculous, even to Briee. The heavy blade at her belt and years of heavy weight training had ensured she was ready for just about anything, but forsaking tactics and adapting? Was that truly the way of the dragon?

Briee watched over the rim of her red bandanna as the armored soldiers pulled their horses along the trail, trying to avoid the worst of the holes in the slick, muddy road where a rock had been washed away. The grey Alpha was trailing behind them in wolf form, ears perked forward and attentive despite his hair being matted down by constant rain and mud. His pack was only a few steps behind. They both had their own set of tactics, she imagined. Adaptable. Flexible.

They also had obliviousness on their side. No one noticed the short girl in plate armor taking a breather in the shade of the tree. It was insulting in some way, she had come to the Beson forest to hunt down the legendary Corengi pack, to take a trophy that would prove to her father that she was worthy of his blessings, but here she was trailing a bunch of whelps and their human counterparts. Barely worth her attention if not for the horses.

She missed meat. Real meat. Meat from the kind of animal she could give a running start to and actuallyrelishthe hunt. A dragon had to be patient, though. The year hadn't been in vain, she promised herself. She'd come a long way since her first night. She'd show her father that she wasn't 'too human' to contain the soul of a dragon.

There was a dozen ways this could go, she mused. Something had spooked the Alpha bad enough to keep him at a distance, perhaps the only thing that made this group of soldiers interesting at all. Maybe it was one of the Corengi mixed among the soldiers. . .

Yes! Why hadn't she thought of that sooner? They were notorious for taking human form among their intended victims and wreaking havoc among therm until the intended meal was so confused and frightened that defending themselves from the onslaught to come would be impossible.

Briee closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the wet earth smell of the forest. She opened her eyes slowly, leering at the precession for what felt like an eternity. She'd prove to her father she was worthy of a pact. She'd catch this lycan and sacrifice him-- in her father's name.

Yes. Yes, she would be accepted. She would show him her true strength and she'd be rewarded for it. Briee swept her gaze over the line of soldiers and lycans once more, settling on one of the men near the back of the line. She mentally marked the first of many targets before the week was out.

Amaranth could have sworn she heard something but every time she turned or glanced, she couldn't make out any specific forms in the thicket. The trees were so densely packed that even the shadows seemed layered beyond the road. Elven night vision be damned, between the cold, hammering rain and gloom, she may as well have been blind.

It was places like this that made people paranoid. Rumors, like the ones spreading through the solders' ranks didn't help anything, either. Talk of rustling noises in the camp at night or reports of men wandering about naked who, when confronted walked off into the forest and disappeared. She'd lost several nights sleep trying to catch sight of man, but so far he hadn't made an appearance when she was on guard. That wasn't to say there wasn't anything out there, no. She could feel a pull on the fringes of her soul; a tingling like the kiss of razor wire run flat along her skin.

All told, it wasn't the worst that could have happened in this forest, but the toll the rumors were taking on morale was starting to become a tangible thing. Every night they made camp, every time the soldiers opened their mouths, there was a kind of edge. It was the sound of men too disquieted to focus and too macho to admit their fear.

In the three days since her vicious and beautiful lovemaking with Richard, supplies had gone missing, more shadows had been seen moving about the camp than at a post-wartime brothel, and the general quality of life had decreased to the point that soldiers quietly complained about the sleeping rotations and reduced rations. Worse still, some openly bemoaned the fact that only Richard was allowed to sleep the whole night through.

There was dissension among the soldiers and despite the sergeant at arms trying to curtail it, Amaranth could see the wariness in their glances and the anger in some of their voices when they'd murmur about how they were unjustly pulled from their families to serve a 'knife ear' mandate.

But then, on the forth day of their trek, under a thick blanket of muggy heat and crushing boredom, someone uttered the phrase "Bet ol' Slant dropped a whisper in in his ear. His father'd never do that." Whether it was her hyper awareness in the face of danger or because that particular name had a history, Amaranth picked the conversation out among the din of insects and wildlife.

The name had been something her 'friends' had called her when she was young, something their human parents had used to reference the rearward slant of her pointed ears without coming out and saying that she, a half-blood would never be truly accepted in a human city. Old hatreds died hard, and the elves didn't have many friends as it was, so seeing someone straddle the line between their races always made for a source of amusement. Or anger. Afterall, for her to have been born, both parents had betrayed the purity of their own race. It wasn't any of this that allowed her her position. It was fortune, having been given to a high ranking aristocratic family had kept her alive during the early years, but it didn't make her immune to the jabs of her peers.

Still, the name set the hair on the back of her neck on end. She immediately turned, leaving her horse to stand as equally dumbfounded as Markus. The soldiers surrounding the Duke started to part, but for a split second there was that hesitation.

"Who said it," Amaranth scanned the faces of the men. "Who's the soldier looking to make himself a serf among you."

The men said nothing, they didn't even flinch.

Richard gave her a shrewd look that told her she was treading dangerous ground, even now. It was too late for that, though. Amaranth pushed on, stepping into the gathering of men and horse. Her sharp amber eyes flit from face to face as though she could discern truth from a mere glance. She knew she couldn't, of course, but that didn't stop her from trying. "Speak up or I'll--"

"You'llwhat, Dame Amaranth?" The sergeant at arms asked-- and that was when she realized it was his voice she had heard.

Not wanting to loose the initiative, she didn't stop until she was within arm's reach. Before she could speak, he was already rising to meet her challenge, pale eyes dark and narrowed. "You have a job to do, Knight, do it and leave the handling of the men to me. It is whatyourDuke demands."

She wasn't thinking clearly or she wouldn't have said something so stupid as, "I'm not challenging your authority to lead, but I won't stand for your disrespect of my character. You slander above your station, a crime punishable by death in any civilized society--"

The men instinctively closed in, protective of their leader and almost immediately Amaranth saw the error in her judgment. Back peddling now would've been completely pointless, all that was left to her was to press down harder. For all the good it would do, she couldn't loose face now. "Your field command is superb, but a soldier knows when to fight and when to let cooler heads and better minds prevail. Know your place, sergeant."

"Due respect,Dame, I think you've forgotten yours."

"W--"

"You were born to privilege and you got yourself a title, but you don't have the field experience. You haven't lead men in combat and bled along with them. Oh, you've no doubt mastered the fine art of looking good in a dress, m'lady, you might have earned the false respect ofhumans." His voice was tight as he closed the distance between them. "You might even be the envy of every lower noble in Beson, but out here you don'tgetto tell me what to say and do. I am theonlyauthority."

She opened her mouth with a retort that just wouldn't come. It died at her lips, not by her volition, but by the searing kiss of hot energy that told her her goddess was watching and she didnotlike what was going to come out. Not in front of her charge, she couldn't show that kind of emotion and she couldn't let him see her that weak. She bit back on the words and cooled herself as best she could before she spoke in a soft, icy chill. "If you think to impugn my character or my allegiance again, we will cross blades, Sergeant."

His beady eyes fixed on her in a glare that was all parts challenge. But his body language was decidedly neutral, a fine show he put on for Richard and his men, neither conceding anything or looking the aggressor.

The bastard even had the courage to smirk as she started to turn away. Quietly, she wondered to herself just what kind of penance she'd have to pay for pummeling the hell out of him. The last time she'd had such an 'episode', it'd taken weeks of cleaning the charity shelter's floorboards of blood moss to set things right with her patron. Of course, getting into a bar brawl with some random strangers and fighting the right hand man of the very person she was supposed to be protecting were vastly different crimes.

Still, Amaranth mused, some things were worth doing. Someone had to clean the floors, it may as well have been someone who had the heart to do it right.

That night after they had set up camp, Amaranth paced the perimeter in full view of the men with her head held high and the tiny glow crystal affixed to her pauldron in open defiance of the sergeant's orders for light discipline. They'd need to see her if whatever was out in the woods prowling around the camp saw her, anyway. Foolish, perhaps, but her quiet rebuke of the overbearing old man made her feel somehow more grounded.

After a day of slogging through one mud hole after another and practically suffocating in the crushing humidity, it was her right to be a little obstinate. Besides, it feltgood. It was liberating to be able to express her own displeasure with the narrow minded fop without sinking to his level and drawing her blade. Wholly, wonderfully, appropriate.

As if the thought of his displeasure could conjure him from thin air, the old bastard and three soldiers stepped into the edge of the pool of light given off by her crystal. In the muted blue glow his face had a distinctly chilly and empty look that belied the strength in his voice when he said, "We'll take it from here."

She wanted to object, to challenge him. Still, she knew better. Inviting distention wasn't her job and she still had a duty to carry out. She bit back on her anger and inclined her head slightly. The gentle tingle of warmth at the base of her spine was both a warning and reassurance from her goddess. She was doing what she had to do and being riled to fight him wasn't going to do anyone any good.

Gods above there were times she wished she were a man-- or human-- or a human man. . . Amaranth flexed her hands as she stepped around the trio, wandering through the gloom until she got her bearings. She grabbed a piece of bread from the table in the middle of the inner circle but when she reached for her customary snack of cured mushrooms and nuts she stopped. Maybe it was the subtle pinch of the armor against her growing stomach or the tug of her goddess's guidance pulling at the base of her spine. After moment, and with some reluctance, she reached for the deer jerky instead.

By the time she got to her little fold out chair, she had grown accustomed to the pull of her goddess and barely felt bothered by it any more. She was probably being reminded that she still had yet to pray, something she'd take care of after she ate. At least that was the plan until Markus approached with a smug little grin tugging at his lips.

Knowing better than to ask what had put it there, she took a bite of her bread and choked down the tangy musk of the moss that had been used to extend the flour. Somehow that remained prefferable right up to the point where it was clear he wanted to talk.

He squatted down a few feet and gave her a strange look at her choice of meals. When she didn't comment, he produced a flask and drank from it. "I ever tell you how much I hate Benson woods?"

"Mmhm." She knew what was coming, hell, she knew he was right to be upset with her, but that didn't make it any more tolerable.

Markus took another swig from his flask and offered it to her, gaze lingering in the muted light. It was a strange effect the way his eyes flickered in the darkness, as though some private joke was swirling about in his mind and he was preparing to tell it but hadn't found the words just yet. Slowly and without so much as a word of warning he leaned in towards her and murmured in a throaty voice that, even ten years on, still warmed her a little inside. It was a voice of strength and stability. "I think Syches is going to shit himself when we get back." He cast a surreptitious glance towards the sergeant at arms. "Don't think anyone's stood up to him since the battle of Brokenholm."

Ammy continued to chew her bread, waiting for the hammer to drop.

Another private smile lit his eyes. It occurred to her that she hadn't fallen into those eyes nearly enough over the years and even in recent months. She sighed to herself, swallowed and leaned forward. Before the words could touch her lips, though, he leaned up and kissed her tenderly.

There were a lot of things that she hadn't done that she should have. Like reciprocating affections she didn't deserve. He hadn't forgotten what it used to be like, though, when life was simpler for both of them. He brushed her bangs back and laced the tip of his thick finger through her mane, even if it was braided at the back, there was enough that he could ruffle it the way he always loved to. Ruffle he did. He made a mess out of the crown of ruby hair only to gently comb it back with his fingers, tingling every sense in her scalp-- inch by inch he worked her hair back into a respectable display, sliding his hand back until he could cup her skull.

Then and only then did he break the kiss.

"Gah-" Ammy whispered. "I--"

"Missed you."

Her breath came in a tiny sip. "Huh?"

"I missed you," he licked his lips and pulled back a little. "It's what you were going to say."

"W-" was she? Gods, surely sheshouldhave. Amaranth looked down and away, nibbling into her lower lip as she tried to rally her courage. "Markus. . ."

"Hm?"

"W- What do you think will happen once we get there? We'll still need to make this trip back, assuming we're not killed, we--"

"Ammy. . . Don't talk like that."

She frowned. "You know it's true, a possibility at least."

"See, the way I look at it," he casually plopped down to sit before her. After another sip from the flask he looked up at her. "He wants us to help the elves, the elves want us to help the elves. We get this little army mobile and he uses whatever magic thingamabob they gave him to signal-- then we all teleport back to the castle. Done and done."

Amaranth eyed him dubiously. "I don't think teleport magic even exists, if it does, it's for the gods to use."

"Sure it does. . . We're living it, wanna see?"

"Uh," what the hell was he getting at? Ammy leaned back with a skeptical expression. In all her time with him she'd never managed to figure out exactly how his mind worked, but that never stopped her from trying. Especially in moments like this. "Sure. All right, show me."

"Give me your hand," he held his out, still clad in his gauntlet.

Amaranth took it lightly, still skeptical. "Of all the places in the world, you're going to propose to me here?"

It was the human's turn to look at her oddly. They smirked in unison-- though hers was meant to relieve tension. His. . . His held something more serious. Something warmer. Markus turned her hand over, running his plated finger across her palm. "My mother was a seer, did I ever tell you that?"

"No?"

"Yeah, she was a gypsy. She used to work the Intrian strait going from town to town reading fortunes and telling people about who they'd fall in love with." His bright brown eyes turned from Ammy's. His voice was softer, a bare whisper but still every bit as powerful as his broad shouldered frame would indicate. "Came at a price, though."

Amaranth let his finger wander for nearly a minute as it traced meaningless symbols on her glove. His hand wavered a bit when he finally pulled up to her wrist, seemingly finishing the symbol. "What price was that?"

"Well," the man looked up to her. "The person who's fortune she read would usually wind up loosing someone important to them. Price for knowing fate, she'd say-- something about the future that might have been having to be paid for by the future that once was." He stilled for a moment, drew a breath and swallowed. "Ammy. . ."

A sudden chill rippled through her. A sharp sense of impending danger and the razor wire feeling wrapped around her throat. Choking the life from her. Blackness. Hatred. A void where light and life went to die. Negative space in a world of plenty--

Just like that, it was gone.

Amaranth whipped her head around. "H- Holy mother--"

"Uh-- No? Wait- what's wrong?"

"Someone's here," she whispered. "Somethingis here."

The two knights were on their feet in a second. Amaranth stilled her senses by reflex, drawing in the ambient feeling of the area, trying to pick out specific sensations, feeling for the void again in the way one would check a hot stove. With some searching, she found it to the northeast. Two steps towards the faint sensation and she felt it become a tangible thing-- it was a hole in the natural flow of the forest. Her link to the natural essence of the world wasn't preternatural, more of a combination of her paladin training and the limited blessings she had and her own elven heritage, but she could get the most vague sense of power from it. It was a power unlike anything she'd ever sensed.