Drowning at Dusk Ch. 06

"That's it," I said with an encouraging purr. "Fill me up. Make the whole crew hear me come."

To my surprise, the words actually drew forth a weak sob from the domineering orc. His hips trembled, and his cock pulsed. Grinning, I licked at his ear again.

"Come on. You're so close, I can feel it. Don't you want to come inside me like you did in that cave? Make me-"

He growled, then silenced me with a fierce kiss.

Two more thrusts and he surrendered, his seed flooding my aching cunt. The pounding of his hips and the continuing efforts of my fingers set me off again, and I squealed against his lips, my legs tightening around his waist to hold him close.

I lifted my hand from my folds to grip his tight, tensing buttocks, encouraging him to fuck me harder through his climax, to give me more and more.

The bed creaked beneath his final few thrusts, and the breathless orc slipped out of me, leaving quite a creamy mess between my thighs and upon the sheets.

"Voids, I needed that," he murmured, wiping sweat from his brow.

"So did I. Been a while for you?"

"Only had one fuck since we parted ways. Remember Tenalia, that bard?"

I nodded, grinning.

"Met up with her on my way down to Arkostead. Had time for a quick fuck, but little else. Haven't had anyone else since."

"You poor thing," I said with a sympathetic pout, and brushed my fingers over his neck, once more toying with his amulet. "Don't you worry: we can have a bit more fun on the journey back, and when Xelari gets better, she'll take pity on you, too."

He snorted at that.

"Maybe she'll finally let me fuck her."

"I certainly hope so. You've earned it." I licked my lips. "And I want to be there to see it. Voids, I might even try to arrange it. Tie her up, leave her helpless, just like she did to me. Then you can use her while I watch..."

The thought nearly made me slip my fingers between my legs again.

"As long as you don't play the domineering mistress like she did. I don't want to be your thrall or plaything. I wanther to be the plaything."

"Oh, I'd have to be a bit domineering, but only to her."

My gaze softened, and my fingers continued to idly graze up and down the firm muscles of his arm. His crimson eyes drifted to my fingers, and he chuckled.

"Tenderness. After the way we met? After everything we've been through?"

"Unusual, I know. But you're a good man, Terakh, and I'm glad you're here. Glad we met. Even if...even if the exact circumstances of our meeting weren't ideal."

He bared his teeth in a wide grin.

"Wouldn't be the first time I've fucked an enemy or made an ally of one. But aye..." He nodded. "Glad I'm here. Glad you're here, too. We make a good team, in battle and in bed."

I nodded in agreement, and my fingers moved from his arm, across his shoulder, then to that firm chest, and finally to the bronze amulet of the Deathless.

"What's the story behind the symbol?" I asked, tracing over the claw-like rune. In all my travels with Terakh and Xelari, I still hadn't asked for the meaning behind the sigil.

"In the ancient days, bronze was a key component in necromantic rituals. Ancient death mages would embed bits of bronze in the eyes of skulls as the first step of the rituals to reanimate them. Over time bronze became an informal symbol for ancient necromancers. The Deathless twisted that imagery: the slashes across the bronze are simply a threat. A promise by the Deathless to tear death magic asunder."

"And all it took for you to sign your life away to such an order was a chance encounter with a death mage at the tavern you worked at?"

"I'd been a mercenary, a gladiator, and a caravan guard before I was a bouncer at that tavern. I'd been hunting for a purpose for a while. I was even toying with the thought of going back to my tribe, to get them to recognize me as a full, true member." He cocked his head and looked up to the ceiling. "Something about the Deathless, though, just called to me."

Looking back to me, he raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Thinking about pledging your soul to the cause?"

"I've already served one holy order before. Not particularly eager to do so again."

"Holy? You've got us all wrong. We are pledged to no god. Only to the defeat of necromancy."

"You know what I mean. The structure, the rules, the-"

"Not too many rules other than 'kill every necromancer and undead being you see.'"

"I can think of more eloquent ways to try to recruit someone," I said, laughing and leaning away so I could stretch a little.

"And so when this is done, when Synrik is dead, you'll just go back to being a hired cutthroat?"

It was a question I'd asked myself a few times ever since agreeing to help Xelari. I'd come up with a dozen different answers over that time, and even as I pondered the question I couldn't quite settle on one.

Another relic-hunt could be lucrative, of course. And the thought of more trysts with Xelari was more alluring than silver. A twinge in my chest, though, confirmed that it was about more than just silver or sex.

"I don't know," I said softly. "I'll figure it out." I offered a wry laugh. "And who knows? Maybe I'll get myself killed at Amberkeep and avoid the dilemma entirely."

***

The captain anchored the ship a mile off shore, well-shrouded within the darkness of night. We'd muffled the oars and maneuvered our borrowed rowboat within the shadows in case there were sentries upon the beach. As a result of our discretion, the journey took us twice as long to get to shore as it would have otherwise, and once the rowboat scraped against the beach we hid it within a cluster of dead trees, covered it with dirt and leaves, then readied our weapons.

"I'll lead the way," I said, readying my shadow-rune. "You two keep your weapons handy, and stay fifty paces behind me."

"At least we'll have a good view," Terakh said with a hungry grin. Kivessen snickered.

Given how focused I was on the mission at hand, I wasn't particularly in the mood for lustful japes, and merely gritted my teeth and pressed on.

I crept up the rocky beach, saving my shadow-rune for when I needed it most. Amberkeep itself was not yet in sight; we'd have to veer inland for at least half a mile or so before reaching the fortress, but Synrik would have been a fool to leave the coast entirely unguarded.

After about five minutes of prowling between the boulders, I caught voices echoing on the wind from the east. I raised a hand to bring my companions to a halt. Trusting that they'd seen the signal in the faint moonlight, I crawled forward, grimacing at the grit of the sand against my cheek.

Thanks to the crashing of the waves upon the beach and the hissing of the wind, I found it impossible to make out the words or the number of voices. After a flick of my finger over the rune, shadows rippled from beneath me, encompassing my form and shrouding me in darkness. Emboldened by the protection of those shadows, I continued towards the voices.

At the top of the ridge was a small cookfire, barely surviving against the onslaught of the salty wind. Three men sat around it, each wearing simple chainmail, and all with swords or bows resting close at hand. One rose to try to reinforce the fire, then grumbled and flopped back down.

"Gods, wish I could have been there to see it," one of them said. "Synrik making a mad dash for the coast, undead rising in his wake, volleys coming from the galley...almost sounded like something from an epic saga."

I gritted my teeth and reached for my crossbow, but I didn't allow such banter to force me into a reckless attack.

Not yet, at any rate.

"It wasn't particularly epic or thrilling. But no fight ever is," said another sentry. "Just terrifying, short, and ugly. Like most fights."

I continued my slow, laborious crawl, coming to within thirty feet of them, and settled in behind a rotted log. In my days with the White Talons, we had trained extensively on how to creep up on targets, and had practiced against seasoned assassins and older, more experienced students. Relatively speaking, sneaking up on three shivering mercenaries was child's play.

The shadow-rune made the whole process even easier. I probably could have gotten to within ten feet of them without any of them noticing.

"Heard you didn't get all of them, though," said the third sentry to the one who'd been at Pyrewatch. "Word came in that some of the Tombflayers might have gotten off the island."

"Eh, it doesn't matter. Even if they survived to warn the Lord-Protector, all they know is that a bunch of undead awoke on the island, and that Synrik sailed north. As far as they know, we could be anywhere."

I couldn't help but grin. Overconfidence was my absolute favorite quality in a target.

I withdrew my crossbow, and waited for the rushing of the wind to mask the sound of the loading and cocking of the weapon, then set two throwing knives beside the rotting log.

One bolt. Two knives. Three targets.

"If we've nothing to worry about, why in the Voids did Synrik post us up here?"

"Amberkeep is a popular place for scavengers, treasure hunters, and brigands on the run. Somebody could come sniffing around."

That did seem like a particularly fitting moment to make my attack, but I maintained my position in case their gossiping revealed any further details. They spent a few minutes complaining about the cold, and how the castle was as wet and drafty as the coast.

"Dampness ain't the worst thing about Amberkeep," murmured a sentry. "It's the damned dead. Standing still all day. Staring off into space, just waiting for Synrik to tell them to move. Makes the skin crawl."

"Those wretched things are the reason we'll win. Thanks to them, our bosses will get the throne back, and we'll all end up rich."

So Synrik had a vast undead garrison on hand, and their chatter also confirmed the potential plot to restore the old monarchy. But who, precisely, would be taking the throne? Was Synrik himself foolish enough to make a claim?

Irrelevant, for the moment. I needed to secure the beach so we could move towards the fortress.

As the sentries' chatter moved on to complaints about the food back at the fortress, I lifted my crossbow.

My finger brushed over the trigger, sending a bolt straight into the eye of the sentry facing my direction. His other eye widened as blood leaked down his face. As he slumped forward onto the sands, his comrades gasped with shock, and I moved in.

A throwing knife leapt from my hand, burying itself in the furthest sentry's neck. As he fell, gurgling and choking, I sprinted forth and leapt just as the third man turned. I collided with him, driving him into the ground with a brutal tackle, and shoved my second knife deep under his chin before he could cry out.

A savage jerk of my blade, and the fight was over. Quick knife-thrusts confirmed the deaths of the others, then I dragged the bodies into the shadows, kicked sand over the blood, then scurried back down the slope towards Kivessen and Terakh.

"The way is clear," I hissed into the darkness. "Three sentries down. They may be expected to check in, so we need to move quickly."

There wasn't any time to fill them in on what the sentries had discussed, and so we moved in silence up the slope, past the dying fire, and across a ridge dotted with stones. I soon realized the stones were ancient, eroded bricks, likely left over from an outer fortification of Amberkeep.

After only a few minutes of marching along the ridge, Amberkeep itself came into view: a sprawling skeleton of its former glory. Most of the once-imposing walls had been reduced to piles of vine-covered rubble, and the central keep had partially collapsed in against itself. One of the towers of the outer wall had been partially rebuilt, and a large fire burned atop it. A dozen other small fires glittered against the shadows within the courtyard.

An activation of my sight-rune allowed me to get a better look: I spotted at least twenty armed men; any one of them could have been the bastard who had nearly killed Xelari. Gritting my teeth, I buried the need for vengeance and focused on gathering information.

At first glance I thought I spotted scores of stone statues scattered through the old fortress, before realizing that they were in fact barrow-walkers. At least a hundred stood perfectly motionless, likely waiting for the command of a necromancer to awake them. I understood why those sentries back on the ridge had been so nervous about their undead comrades, and wondered how in the Voids any of Synrik's lackeys would ever get any sleep surrounded by so many statue-like corpses.

I reported my findings to my companions, and Terakh let out a low growl.

"Ugly odds, but not impossible to overcome. If we kill Synrik, he won't be able to command those undead," said Kivessen.

"If there are other death mages here, they will be able to control them," Terakh warned. "Synrik's death alone won't stop this. Not to mention, we've no idea how many more warriors or undead they have hidden elsewhere."

"He's right," I said, a bit impressed by Terakh's wary wisdom. "We need answers first."

I returned my gaze to the fortress. Given the disrepair, there were a hundred possible entry points, plenty of cover, and ample vantage points for a better look. That refurbished tower was a boon and obstacle in equal measure: the sentries up there would be more likely to spot us, but it would also give us a perfect perch with which to observe the rest of the ruin. It would also make for a damned fine place to make a stand if necessary.

For a moment I pondered splitting us up, and sending Kivessen to take that tower by stealth, to hold it while Terakh and I found another way inside. Splitting up at the mill in the countryside, however, had nearly gotten me and my companions killed.

Against the odds now facing us, cooperation was all the more essential to survival.

"We take the long way around," I advised, pointing to the northern flank of the ruin. "And we'll avoid the gaze of any sentries up in that tower. Hard to imagine Synrik camping out with his lackeys, so I suspect he's within the intact parts of that central tower, along with other death mages and the evidence we need. Take no chances: kill if we have to, take what evidence we can, then run as soon as we get what we need."

Terakh let out a rumbling growl and nodded his assent, while Kivessen strung his bow.

Together we moved slowly down the hill, looping through a thin patch of forest on the edges of the ruin. Occasionally we encountered pieces of stone and marble left from other ruins, and Terakh let out a soft curse upon stepping on a skull. The light of the moons revealed several other half-buried skeletons. Judging by the damage to the bones and the rusted state of the armor, they'd been there for some time, likely from the very battle where the last king's sons had died. With time, Synrik might even raise those skeletons to further bolster his ranks.

The three of us flung ourselves to the dirt as a patrol of six torch-wielding mercenaries wandered from the ruin. Judging by the casual murmur of their conversation, they weren't yet aware of the three dead sentries or our approach, and we waited in the darkness until they passed.

"Could have taken them," Terakh murmured under his breath.

"Probably," said Kivessen. "But we didn't have to. Too much risk."

We looped farther around to the north, wandering deeper into the undergrowth, before pushing back towards the fortress, sticking to the shadows cast by the larger sections of the ruined wall. Another small patrol passed us by.

Once they were gone, Terakh rose from his hiding spot behind a pile of bricks, until Kivessen stopped him with a sharp breath. The meadow elf pointed to a large section of the half-collapsed wall; a single sentry stood guard, backlit by the moons. The man had a crossbow in hand, and wandered back and forth along the edges of the wall.

While my shadow-rune could have gotten me past, the others didn't have that luxury, and even with such magic a keen sentry still might have spotted us. After I nodded at Kivessen, he notched an arrow, pulled back, and let fly.

A soft whisper, then a wet thud, and the sentry toppled backwards. No screams of pain, no cries of alarm, and we pushed through the gap in the collapsed wall.

We arrived at the courtyard. Before us loomed thirty completely inert barrow-walkers, their boney forms looking more like statues than undead foes. Some of them had been inert for so long that grass had grown up over their feet, while others were home to the nests of birds or wasps.

Past the first cluster of undead was a dying cookfire and three tents, with no mercenaries in view. The sight brought to mind my infiltration of Xelari's camp: silently scampering between the unaware brigands, lurking outside of her tent to listen as Terakh pleasured her, and the botched assassination and frenzied escape.

For a moment I pondered the possibility of slipping inside those tents and killing the mercenaries while they slept, to thin their numbers in case someone raised the alarm.

No. Too risky. If even one of them was awake when I entered, they could raise a cry and bring forth the wrath of the whole damned camp.

Though the barrow-walkers looked inert, I didn't want to risk the possibility that they might still be able to observe their surroundings, so we skirted around the edges of the unusual formation, and approached the half-collapsed central keep of the fortress.

Two mercenaries stood guard, along with four barrow-walkers who were not inert like the others. From our hiding place behind a fallen tower, we watched for a few minutes until one of the guards and two of the undead wandered off to the south.

"Need another way in," I murmured.

"Or a distraction," said Kivessen. "See those barrow-walkers over there?" He pointed to some of the furthest undead, a few of which were now home to birdnests in the gaps between their ribs. "Those nests look like those of shadowkites. Noisy little bastards."

"And how does that help us?" asked Terakh.

"I know their calls, including the ones that signify a challenge to their territory. Most meadow elves do. I daresay with the right call, I could drive those shadowkites into a frenzy if they think a rival flock is showing up. And that might wake up all the other ones in the area, too. Cause quite a racket, make those sentries at the door wander over to see what the fuss is about."

Of course it ran the risk of waking up even more mercenaries, but that was still preferable to a reckless charge across the open with those sentries still at the door. After a nod from me, Kivessen raised his fingers to his lips and let out four sharp, singsong calls. Within moments, cries rose from the nearest nest. Three small black birds erupted into the sky, all shrieking as they scattered.

Echoes of those shrieks rose from other nests, and the tumult erupted even from one of the old towers. Within a minute, the courtyard was alive with the shrieks and chirps of irate, confused birds, followed by the shouts of irate, confused guards.

The mercenary by the door scowled and ran off towards the watchtower, with his undead comrades limping behind him.

We had our opening.

I moved at a slow run, bobbing from shadow to shadow and between the piles of debris. The others followed; Terakh moved with surprising speed and stealth despite his size.

We made it to the large, half-rotted wooden door, and I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't barred or locked. I gently pushed it open, revealing a long stone hallway dimly lit with torches. Voices echoed from deeper within, but for the moment we were alone.

With the door shut behind us, we crept further into the fortress. Thankfully the hallways were dotted with side-passages and smaller rooms, some of which were filled with bones or more debris. Those all served as perfect hiding places for us to duck into as the guards passed.