Lost in the Light Ch. 05

"Just don't bite my ears," Wolfe growled back with a toothy grin and tossed The Swordsmaster the practice sword. The bald, bearded man pulled the blue robe off over his head and had on the shirt and shorts of their practice uniform on underneath. He took a single handed stance with the sword and came at his opponent.

Wolfe was already hot and sore from his previous session, and was thankful Sebastian was going easy on him as they practiced against one another.

*****

The bathhouse was on the far side of the dining hall, next to the steward's quarters. The Mischevious wasn't that hot and sweaty that she felt she needed to take a bath, but orders were orders. She found herself questioning why she was following his commands, somehow it just felt natural, but the building was far enough away she had time to mull it over. Her broodings had left her unaware of her surroundings as she opened the door and trudged right on in. The building was deserted, and no one had left water in the tubs or had set the heating fire. The stewards washed in the evenings, so it was no wonder that the bathhouse wasn't ready for use.

It was a small building with a dirt floor, but large enough for four oak barrel tubs. A stone-walled well dug into the center of the room brought up fresh water by pail. Oak plank footstools scattered about to give the men a lift up into the tubs or something to set their clothes and towels on. On the far back wall was a fireplace and chimney stack to keep the room warm in cold climates. She had used the baths before, but this time she felt unsure how to proceed. Memories and images of the baths in Zecair came to mind with their luxurious deep pools and scrub attendants. This place was so gloomy and barbaric by comparison.

"Can't be helped," she sighed and pulled her robe off.

A sharp whistle of appreciation snapped her attention to the front door. A couple of men stood at the doorway and filed inside. The Mischevious turned to face them, baring her naked body as if there was nothing wrong. Four in all, with a fifth that waited outside as the door closed.

"Sorry for the intrusion Miss," the first one said casually. "We were wondering if we could ask you a few things?" His manners and demeanor were friendly enough, but the looks she was getting from the others that moved to surround her were far from it. There was a mix of lust and loathing in their expressions: the cowls of their hoods may have covered their heads but their faces were easy enough to read.

"So long as you meet my price," she said in a sultry voice and sashayed over to the speaker. Her hands caressed her hips and thighs as she walked, relishing the looks of desire these men wore plainly on their faces. Her hands came to drape around the back of his head as she came to him, there she curled the hairs on his head with her fingers. "I want you to fuck me. All of you, all at once." She whispered.

One of the men snorted.

"I ain't touching a Zek," He sneered. "They makes ya cock rot off."

"Only because you failed to satisfy one of us," she retorted coyly. "We really have no use for limp swords."

"Fuck you," the man shot back. "Tells us what we want or I'll slice that tongue right out of your mouth." He snarled and produced a kitchen knife from the folds of his robe. The Mischevious gave him a sideways glace. All of them had come within striking distance of her, but just out of her reach. She looked up to the polite man in her arms and gave her an annoyed roll of the eyes and a sigh.

"You'll pay my price won't you?" She begged him. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck lightly.

"Pay mine, bitch!" the knife wielder sneered, and shoved six inches of sharp steel into her backside. The sharp pain of punctured vital organs dropped her instantly to the ground. Her hands went to her wound and came away soaked in blood.

"Now, now, Harrold. How are we supposed to get our answers now?" The polite one asked. He knelt down and took her chin in his hands. "I know it hurts, and we'll make it all better, I promise. But first we need to know why you attacked our friends."

The Mischevious tried to focus on his words as she pulled energy from the healthier parts of her body to deal with the wound.

"Friends?" she managed to say confused.

"Yes," He said calmly. "The ones you killed. At the whorehouse..." For a moment, she thought he was talking about the bastards that had captured and tortured her. But the ones at the whorehouse? She didn't understand. "At the whorehouse?" she repeated.

"Answer us, or I'll stick you again!" The violent one screamed.

"Harrold," he sighed. "Go wait outside with Greggory and have him come in here. Don't worry she's not going far, I'll call you in to finish the job if you like." Harrold shoved his way past the other two and opened the door. Some harsh words were exchanged outside and the fifth man came in.

"Please tell us, or we can't help take the pain away," Her captor asked again in a sweet voice as he caressed her cheek. Her eyes fluttered and started to roll back into her head.

"Wasn't me..." she moaned, "only killed ones that came to... the storage...room." her consciousness waned, and she threatened to black out.

"Hmm, this is odd." The first said. "I believe her. The mind rarely has time to think of a lie when it's about to die. I think someone set her up."

"Rubbish!" another said, "she's lying, biding time for her boyfriend to come save her." The brains of this group didn't seem convinced; something dark was forming in his mind.

"In either case, gentlemen," He started to say. "The elites are involved and we need to be very, very careful. If they are setting us up, then they already know. But they aren't afraid to kill us if they did, so why pin it on her? Unless to get the rest of us to come out of hiding... Dastardly devious!" he whispered in a dire voice. His skin turned bright while as if the thought was scaring him. "But then why haven't they attacked?" He looked around the room, as did the others. The only person stirring was the half dead Zecarin woman in his arms.

"Oh, ho ho... clever ploy, girl." The man smirked. "I've seen a few stabbings in my time, I'd say you have..." he rolled her over slightly to look at the back wound. But when he saw that the bleeding had stopped, his face went white again.

Dark fingers touched his cheek and caressed it softly before wrapping around his throat. A flash of light and the rank smell of burnt flesh preceded the man's topple backwards to the ground -- his throat a smoky ruin. The men staggered backwards in shock and one cried out in alarm.

The door flew open and Harrold returned with his knife. One man charged in with his leg back to delivery a devastating kick to her head. But as he closed in, a rock popped out of the ground mid-stride and he tripped over it. The soft dirt wasn't what welcomed him, but another jagged rock popped up to meet his face instead. The resulting wet splatter unnerved the other two who cowered away towards the back of the building.

Harrold blocked the doorway and watched. His face was turning red with anger but he wasn't stupid enough to charge in.

"What're you waiting for, kill the bitch!" He shouted.

"You do it!" Greggory shot back.

"Come watch the door then, dammit!" Harrold replied and Greggory came running over. The same magic trick caught him too only this time he tripped into Harrold and was impaled on the knife. It wasn't a fatal wound, but he screamed in surprise and clutched his bleeding chest. Harrold silenced him in one quick flash of his knife through the man's throat.

"Dammit, if you hadn't screamed I wouldn't have had to do that," Harrold cursed at the dieing man as he choked on his own blood.

"You, killed him!" the last steward said in disbelief. The Mischevious ignored him and kept her blurring vision on that knife. Popping up rocks and incinerating flesh on touch were small uses of magic; it was all she could afford with the massive amount she had to spend to heal such a devastating wound. Her strength was about to give out, but she was determined to kill these two before that.

"Shut up, Mac!" Harrold hissed. "Keep your voice down, you idiot."

"No! I'm want no part of this!" Mac protested.

"After I'm done with her, I'll be coming for you, you worm." Harrold seethed. He kept his distance from the Zek as she propped herself up on one arm and held her wounded side with the other. Her eyes had the utmost hate for this man in them, so much they were turning deep red. She started to crawl towards one of the wooden stools, but her strength gave out the moment she touched it.

Harrold seized the moment and charged in to plunge that knife into her chest. The moment he got close she flung the stool against his head and shattered it over his skull in a scream of rage. The two collapsed to the ground; one exhausted, one out cold.

"Mac..." She hissed and looked up at him. "Come closer if you want to live."

"Don't hurt me! I'm sorry. They said we were just going to ask you something!" Mac said and cautiously walked closer. "I'll go get help!" he went to run out.

"Move and I'll kill you," she sneered. Mac froze in his tracks. "Come closer and help me up." Mac was halfway to the door with a clear shot at it. He looked back at her and the deadly glare she was giving him. It was too much to take and his instincts took over as he fled the bathhouse.

"Fuck..." The Mischievous whimpered. She cried from the pain and let her body finally writhe in agony. She brought her hand up to her face and found it still covered in fresh blood. Her magic hadn't sealed the wound completely. If she didn't get help she would die. "Fuck.." she cursed again, this time letting her fear and pain show in her voice.

Slowly, bit by bit, she made it to her robe and managed to get it over her head. Somehow she got to her feet and wobbled out the door. One hand pressed the thick cotton to her backside to try and put pressure on the wound, the other helped hold her up as she went from wall to wall skirting around the buildings to avoid being seen. She didn't want anymore trouble, and she didn't want anyone to see the snarling death glare of hatred on her face. It was a long agonizing trek back to her room, but she eventually made it to the side entrance of the main chapel.

On the rooftops above, Mero watched her disappear inside.

"Good girl.." he breathed to himself with a smile. "All you had to do was yell, but you didn't. Good girl, rest well. I'll clean up." He smiled and looked to the building Mac had disappeared into...

*****

Wolfe's march down the hall looked like he was going to battle. With his arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face, the usually unreadable man was clearly letting everyone know he was pissed. Stewards crossed to the opposite side the moment they saw his face and no one said a word to him. It was well past dark outside, and he hadn't seen his charge since early afternoon. When she didn't show for lessons, he checked the bathhouse, and the dining hall but no one had seen her. The last place he would have expected was now the only place left to find her.

When he came to her door, he gave it a loud rap. When there was no answer, his cheek twitched in aggravation right before he threw it open wide. Inside he found her curled up in bed in the dark.

"You missed your lesson," he growled sternly. She lifted her sleepy-eyed head to look at him with the oddest expression of confusion he had seen. It melted his sternness for just a second.

"Fuck off..." she muttered before dropping back down into her pillow.

Wolfe bristled. With one step forward, he quietly closed the door behind him. There was no mistaking the heavy smell of blood in here. His brow scowled as he tried to understand the situation. The conclusion he came to was not a pleasant one. He thought about his words carefully; the silence was filled by her rhythmic breathing in the darkness.

"I understand the female body has certain... rhythms." He started to say delicately. The Mischevious pulled the spare pillow over her head. "But that does not excuse you from your lessons. We had hoped to talk to you about some of the visions you were ha..."

A pillow flew across the room and pelted him in the face.

"Go. Away." She growled from under the blanket. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have pushed so far into her territory. Ordinarily, he would have just let her be and let her face the punishments later. But, ordinarily, he would never get this pissed.

"Listen, you," he growled back and flung the pillow to where he thought her head was. There was a muffled grunt from the covers as his hit scored. "If you're going to ditch lessons, I need a better explanation than 'fuck off'. I'm responsible for you." He made his way through the darkness to stand over her bedside.

"Are you?" she retorted with a sarcastic tone, and buried her head under her other pillow.

"Yes!" he protested. "Even if it's just a woman's cycle, you could at least let me know so I don't spend the day wondering where you ran off to." Wolfe reached down to snatch her pillow away, but she snatched his wrist in the darkness and dug in with her nails. He didn't so much as grunt as they pierced the skin and drew blood. Her grip was strong. Wolfe let her vent her frustration on his wrist, and silently took the pain. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she could hurt him.

"Are you through?" He finally said after awhile. She got his wrist good, and blood was running down his arm and hers.

"Almost," she growled and attacked his wrist with her teeth. Her lips latched onto the soft underside and her teeth dug into his skin as she drank his vital essence. Suddenly the strength started to go from his legs, and that startled him. A swift backhand across her temple knocked her loose and free.

"What in the hells is wrong with you," he snarled and took as step back. The wound wasn't bad, but it would make a mess if he didn't clean it up. What bothered him was the sudden loss of strength; did she do something to him?

"Oh I just thought if I made you feel like I do, you'd realize I'm not in the mood, and fuck off!" She shot back with the same sarcastic flair. She was on him before he could respond, her nails aiming for his throat. He seized her hands as they tumbled backwards against the desk. In the dark, he couldn't see her face as well as he would like, but he could hear the hissing of her breath through clenched teeth. A swift knee between his legs took the strength from him. Her aim was a bit off, and he got away with a grazing blow to his genitals. But it did enough damage to make him loose his grip and her hands wrapped around the back of his head and brought him down, just as her knee rose again to connect with his forehead. The impact knocked his senses loose and bright dots of light flickered in the darkness. Wolfe crumpled to the ground.

She was on top of him before he could recover, straddling his chest just as he had done to her earlier. Her knees pinned his arm down, and her hands around his throat kept him from squirming.

"Take your time," she said coldly. Taunting him with the same phrase he used to give her time to catch up. "I want answers... Why am I here?" Wolfe's consciousness started to focus with all the blood rushing to his head from her strangle hold.

"No clue," He spat unintentionally. "One day you showed up with a portal rune that was supposed to bring our comrade back instead."

"Why can't I leave?"

"We need to know why you came first. Are you our enemy?" At this point Wolfe had no need to hide anything he didn't know himself. He wasn't sure she was going to do real harm to him, and he felt his feet get some good leverage just in case he needed to toss her, so for now he was going to play it her way.

"Do you want me to be?" She seethed and positioned her nails into his neck.

"No you idiot!" He shot back. "Not as if I care, but I would have just killed you if I wanted you to be."

"Then why did you send assassins after me?"

"What?" Wolfe was confused now. Something wasn't right here anymore, and it was time to end this. He slammed his knee into the small of her back and she screamed bloody agony. The successfulness of his strike surprised him, but he took the opportunity to put some distance between them.

"What assassins? What the hell are you talking about?" He muttered in disbelief.

"Now, I know you know," She winced as she clutched her backside, "you're not as good at using people as we Zecarins. You leave too many coincidences." She snorted at him and tried to get up, the pain in her backside made her fall back down. Her voice cracked and a whimper of pain escaped.

"I didn't hit you that hard, so stop the faking." Wolfe snorted. "If this is one of your moments of not being able to tell reality from your dreams, I can forgive it. But you're not acting your usual self, so I think that means you remember now. Or was that an act too?"

"Fuck off!" She snarled. "I'll kill you!" The Mischevious could barely stand, and just slumped against her bed on the floor moaning in short breaths. Wolfe could see her naked skin glinting with sweat in the starlight from her window. She was shaking, and her breathing was growing more and more labored. It was the cold sickness right before death, he'd seen it before. Siles called it 'body shock'. Something was certainly wrong here, there was no way she could force her body to fake that.

Wolfe gave in, and against his better judgment he went to her. She swung for his head the moment he got close but there was no coordination in it, and did little more than rustle his hair.

"Something isn't right here, what aren't you telling me? What happened to you?" He asked. She looked up with pained eyes and tried to read him in the darkness. Trembling hands touched his cheeks, and he didn't fight them. Her skin was cold, and her palms sweaty. "You need to see Siles. I'll take you..." he was cut off by a vigorous shaking of her head.

"No more," she sighed. "Truth.... Only."

"What? You're not making sense." She silenced him with a kiss. It was soft and weak, her strength was going. But through it, something was happening. Wolfe was getting light headed, and his feet went numb. He was about to push her away when she broke it and held him tightly. Her breath came in quick heavy pants, and her cheek felt warm to the touch. What ever she was doing, it was taking his stamina and making her better with it.

"To complete the spell," she whispered in his ear as she tried to form sentences. "My magic will take some of your health, to heal me." She placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Please?"

"Do it." He growled. "But I want answers." She wrapped her body around him, her legs slid under his crumpled up robe and around his waist, and her arms cradled his head. It happened in an instant, all the life in his limbs was suddenly sapped away. The feeling in his body was like he drank a whole tankard of stout in one gulp without eating anything all day. The room spun; he couldn't tell up from down and suddenly his stomach knotted up and threatened to release its contents all over her.

Gradually, his bearings returned. He was on the floor staring at the ceiling. The Mischevious was gone. He sat up and his head spun.

"Like eating bad mushrooms," he snorted. A short chuckle came from the far side of the bed --she had sought comfort back under the thick blankets. Wolfe could make out her silhouette under the covers as she was turned away from him.

"I'll see if I can find some of those tomorrow," she muttered against the pain. Wolfe sat down on the side of the bed, and rested his head in his hands. He wasn't given to uncomfortable silences, he always had to say something to make it go away, but this time there were no right words. All he could do was wait for the ringing in his skull to go away.