Red Tsonia & The Witch In The Dark

The sun had only begun to stretch their shadows across the baked landscape when the trio crested a ridge and looked down at the distant Cairn. A collection of huts and hovels, not much different from the ramshackle shelters the brigands had called their home, nestled against the western side of The Cairn. Ancient stone blocks, even darker in color than the blackest pit and taller than five men stacked upon each other's shoulders, had been used to build the monolithic ziggurat.

No one knew who the antediluvian architects were who built the ziggurat and what it had been used for. No one knew what the strange green strata inside the blocks meant, but bricks made from it and the desert sand were a highly desired building material for the eccentric and decadent nobles in the Green Cities. So, an army of laborers chipped away at the stones while brickmakers separated the green, luminescent minerals from the night-black stone, powdered both and baked two kinds of bricks from it, one matte black, the other a scintillating green.

The slaves were watched over by soldiers and mercenaries hired by the Green Cities so the flow of bricks would never cease—and to make sure that those who ended up tossed into the warrens underneath the ziggurat would think twice before returning to the surface. If the Green Cities wanted someone gone, they usually ended up at The Cairn, either pressed into service as a miner or brick maker or—if their crime was truly heinous—dropped into the unending blackness under the ziggurat, where no sunlight dwelled and the only sounds were eerie whispers and moans or the screams of the tortured and dying.

"It's bigger than it was the last time we were here," Tsonia remarked, looking down on the settlement, the lone feature in a barren landscape.

"Yes, the keep is new," Joras pointed to the walled stone tower that held a commanding view of the settlement. "Do you suppose they have a new Overseer?" His lizard took advantage of the brief pause to lick the dry sand from first one eye, and then the other.

"Perhaps," Tsonia shrugged, squinting at the hazy horizon out beyond the ziggurat. "But a caravan approaches from the north. And caravans mean merchants to turn our baggage into coin."

***

DuFrain observed the approach of three lizards, heavily burdened, from the balcony at the top of his tower where a flapping canopy of Salathian silk shaded him from the worst of the sun. Normally such a small caravan would be beneath the notice of The Cairn's Overseer. The long line of elephants and camels approaching from the north would bring far more lucrative trade. But these three lizards approached from the west, and there was nothing to the west but badlands and death. And so DuFrain was curious. He sipped his wine and he enjoyed the cooling afternoon and he observed.

The trio drew to the outskirts of his demesne as the sun began to flirt with the western horizon. The first detail DuFrain could pick out was the dazzling tussock of copper hair that adorned the lead rider. She was a woman. Even at this distance, her soft features and shapely frame left no doubt about it. Her hair shimmered like strontium fire in the gloaming sunset. DuFrain's curiosity only intensified, and he leaned far forward over the rail of his balcony, shading his eyes from the setting sun to see more.

The second rider was small, probably only a boy. The third, astride the largest lizard and hauling the heaviest load was a man dressed in the northern style, much as DuFrain himself was dressed. The man and the boy were nothing. It was the woman who now intrigued DuFrain and he scrutinized her approach through the narrow squint of his eyelids.

The final light of the evening glinted off a scant chain hauberk and skirt over sun browned skin, and DuFrain's heart leapt. It could be no other astride that lizard than Red Tsonia the Savage herself.

DuFrain turned back from his vigil to gaze at the single painting that adorned the wall of his private chamber. It was hung specifically to catch the fading light of sunset. There, emblazoned on the canvas, knee-deep in the corpses of Vizangian marauders, scimitar and dirk dripping gore, was the visage of the woman who stalked his dreams. The painting had smitten him the moment he saw it and DuFrain had paid a Fethian merchant handsomely so that he might possess it.

How many nights had he lain in bed contemplating that image, yearning for the woman in the sparse chainmail who dealt death with such reckless abandon? How many times had he longed to turn that snarl of fury upon her countenance to a soft moan of pleasure? How could he deny himself the opportunity to tame the she-beast of Thelyria when the fates had delivered her right to his doorstep?

"Ivor!" DuFrain called for his captain and turned back to the balcony, for though the painting upon his wall was sublime, the woman he burned for was there for him in the flesh. "Ivor, to me at once!" he shouted again.

"Yes, Lord Overseer?" panted the Captain of the guard, bursting through the door at a run. "You called?"

"I did, Ivor." DuFrain beckoned the young captain out to the balcony with an urgent wave of his hand. "Look yonder—the three lizards approaching the outskirts of town—mark well the lead rider. Find her and invite her to be my guest tonight."

"A woman like that cannot easily pass unnoticed in this town, m'Lord," Ivor observed, shading his dark eyes to better admire the lead rider. "It won't take long to track her down."

"Do not allow her to deny you, Captain. Whatever inducement or threat is required, you have my leave. Take all the men you need and spare no expense. I want that woman in my bed tonight."

"As you wish, Lord Overseer," the captain snapped a salute. "It shall be done."

As the captain strode from the room with purpose, DuFrain refilled his goblet from a pitcher and called for his chamberlain. The Cairn was a settlement short on the luxuries of the north and the east, but DuFrain flattered himself that he had brought some small measure of civilization to the wretched outpost he tended. A bath was to be drawn and all the finest delicacies of his larder prepared. The best musicians and dancers in town would be pressed into service. Exotic oils and perfumes were to be laid out to anoint her glorious skin, and none but robes of the finest silk would caress her body. DuFrain would shower Red Tsonia with luxuries the likes of which such a woman could never have known. He would seduce her with every comfort his rule would afford, and then he would bed her with a passion that would leave her craving for nothing.

***

DuFrain's excited barks followed Ivor down the stairs as he made his way to the guard barracks on the keep's ground floor. The Overseer's mercurial nature was a fixture of Ivor's miserable days, as were the bouts of sudden anger and malice DuFrain visited upon those whom he deemed to have wronged the petty, balding man. Executing the Overseer's orders, however inane or paranoia-fuelled they were, was preferable to spending time in his perfumed quarters, listening to the man prattle on about how he would transform the wasteland into a paradise of his making.

Ivor shook his head and opened the door to the barracks. Four of his men sat around a table, tossing rune-carved finger bones in a game of chance. They looked up expectantly when he entered. These men had it easy and knew very well that their unquestioning loyalty was paid for with easy hours within the Keep's walls, ostensibly guarding the Overseer and his retinue of servants.

"Come," Ivor said. "His Excellency requires us to secure tonight's entertainment."

"Again?" That was Tommek, with a ghastly scar distending his mouth into a perpetual, lopsided grin. "What happened to that serving wench from last night?" Along with the others, Tommek rose, tested the fit of his armor and grabbed his weapons.

Ivor did not answer. He had been sworn—on his blood—to keep DuFrain's secrets and despite how little he could stand the man, he prided himself on his honor and loyalty. Disposing of the remains of DuFrain's entertainment had sadly become an all too common occurrence after the nobleman had been banished from the Green Cities.

So far, DuFrain didn't find it necessary to share the details with Ivor, but the captain suspected that some indiscretion while pursuing his more extreme pastimes might be the reason why the Overseer now ruled this burning hell hole. Nobles were forbidden from many things, especially when the Lords from Beyond were involved, but unless you got caught, no one batted an eye.

"His latest fancy looks to be a feisty one," Ivor said instead. "I want all of you with me, to make sure His Excellency's invitation carries enough weight."

The sound of four fists rapping the guards' hard-boiled leather chest plates in salute was all the confirmation Ivor needed. He left the barracks with his men in tow and headed for the western edge of town. Finding the new arrivals would be easy.

What passed for one of The Cairn's main streets was clogged tighter than Thelyria's sewers after a dry spell. Ivor could barely make out the lizards or cargo sleds the terracotta-scaled beasts had been dragging. A living morass had engulfed the new arrivals. The beggars, peddlers, and whores were shouting over each other to grab the trio's attention while some pick-pockets tried to ply their trade.

Ivor put two fingers into his mouth and loosed an ear-piercing whistle. His men slapped their blades against their shields, glowering angrily at the mob of half-naked, sand-crusted gutter trash. Some of the less reputable hawkers decided that doing business under the guards' noses was a bad idea and ducked back into the alleyways snaking between huts and hovels. Only the truly desperate remained.

Before Ivor could chase them away, the flame-haired warrior woman threw something at the mouth of an alley. The last rays of sunlight caught the glint of polished steel nibs as they sailed through the air. Like a pack of starved rats the beggars dove to where the unexpected windfall had hit the ground and within a heartbeat, the jostling and punching began. Suddenly, a pained wail erupted and Ivor saw the flash of a makeshift dirk, trailing crimson.

He placed a hand on Tommek's arm as his second-in-command started forward. "Let nature take its course. We have too many beggars."

Tommek shrugged and returned his gaze to the trio of strangers. "I wouldn't mind sheathing m' dagger in that one," he said, his eyes on the mail-clad vixen.

"Maybe his Excellency will spare some of her for you," Ivor muttered. Now that the crowd had been sufficiently thinned, he took a step forward, keenly aware of the scrutinizing gazes both the woman and her companion were sending his way. The boy riding the middle lizard had slumped over the saddle horn, either asleep or half-dead. Stopping just outside of sword reach, Ivor offered a small, respectful bow.

"I hope we didn't kill anyone important the last time we were here," the woman said, to no one in particular. She spoke the common trade tongue with enough confidence to make a joke.

"If we had, we'd be knee-deep in angry guards by now," her companion quipped in the same language. "These fellows seem rather cordial—for now. Please, Tsonia, don't make them angry?"

"I'll try."

The woman called Tsonia focused her whole attention on him and Ivor sensed a strange chill running down his spine. She was sizing him up, but there was a lusty twinkle in her eye which caught him completely off-guard. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the warmth gathering in his loins, and spoke: "Welcome to The Cairn. I am Ivor, Captain of the Overseer's Guard. In the name of my master, Lord DuFrain, I would like to extend an invitation to The Keep."

Tsonia cocked her head and offered Ivor a dazzling smile. "That's unusual. Pray tell, what could be so important that the Overseer wants to meet a lowly sellsword such as me?"

Ivor took a deep breath. He had to approach this matter with the utmost tact. The last thing he wanted was to soil the street with his men's blood should DuFrain's offer fall unto unreceptive ears. To his surprise, her companion cut in.

"Probably the same thing that ivory merchant in Salath wanted. Or the High Priestess in Xhastria," he suggested. "If he does, please, for all that's holy, don't-"

Tsonia sighed, cutting off her companion's impassioned plea. "I will hear what this DuFrain has to say. Maybe I can gather some useful rumors. After all, he seems like an eagle-eyed and well-informed master of his domain and having such a man help in my search might be worth my time."

She dismounted and handed the reins of her lizard to her companion. "I leave the goods to you. Keep what you need and sell the rest. Coin travels faster than cargo. Depending on how much the Overseer and I... 'talk', I'll either find you in the market or at Brigitta's. If I'm not back by tomorrow afternoon, get the hell out of here."

"What about him?" her companion asked, nodding towards the boy. Tsonia's beast was sniffing his limp body as if debating if it should take a nibble.

"Find some merchant in need of a counting-boy, or buy him an apprenticeship in an honest trade. But tell him it's your mercy that saves him from the slave pits, not mine."

"As you wish, my muse,"

Turning to Ivor, Tsonia offered a bow of her own. "Lead away, man. We can't keep your master waiting, now can we?"

Ivor let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He gestured to his men and together they walked back to the keep. That had almost been too easy.

***

"I shall have a tub like this and I shall bathe every day," Tsonia decided, sipping from a goblet of wine as the young maid poured in another pitcherful of hot water. The bath was large enough she could stretch out her legs pointing her toes, and deep enough that she could sink up to her neck with her breasts floating beneath the surface. The water smelled of rose petals and saffron and it leached away the ache from her muscles leaving her feeling supple and relaxed. With the dust and grime of the road scrubbed away, her skin shone with a luster that Joras would surely love to capture.

Even the ache in her injured shoulder was lessened by the indulgent bath. The maid had carefully removed Joras's bandages to reveal the ugly black scabs, much to the woman's distress. "I've never seen a wound so blackened with filth, m'lady" she fretted. "Shall I scrape them off so they can bleed afresh?" Tsonia declined the offer, knowing the sight of her tainted blood would only upset the woman.

Just as Tsonia had decided that she could linger in the opulent bath all night, another maid knocked at the door before entering. "The Lord Overseer has laid out refreshments, m'lady, and sent me to dress you."

"What of my armor and weapons?" Tsonia asked.

"They're to be returned sharpened and polished, m'Lady. Captain Ivor's own squire is seeing to it now."

"T'was too good to last," Tsonia sighed and stood, rivulets of warm water cascading down her lean body. The two maids toweled her dry patting delicately at the wound that marred her shoulder. A fresh bandage was applied before she was wrapped in a robe of sapphire silk embroidered with a delicate avian motif, and hung with jewels of every color.

In the keep's modest banquet hall, Tsonia found a sumptuous repast laid out with meat and pastry still steaming from the ovens. The hot aroma routed the more delicate floral scents of her bath and a vicious hunger awoke in Tsonia's belly. At the head of the table sat a soft and milky man, dressed in the northern style, abating his impatience with a wine goblet.

"Ah! At last," the man sang out, rising from his tufted chair. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, wholly unremarkable. "I bid you welcome, Red Tsonia. I am DuFrain, Lord Overseer of The Cairn, and all that I have is thine."

"A generous offer, Lord Overseer." Tsonia nodded in deference. Men like DuFrain might be less than worthless on the field of battle, but yet they wielded tremendous power and prowess in the marbled halls where civilizations gather fearsome strength. Too soon, she decided, to discount the man out of hand. She would take his measure carefully before judging him. "I gratefully accept."

"Please, please, call me DuFrain," the Overseer insisted, resting his hand in the small of her back and urging her gently towards the table. "You must be famished from your journey. Eat please, and enjoy. These are pickled cobra eggs all the way from Garnateke. And the roast is a shank of B'rillin mutton glazed with Debon honey and saffron. You didn't expect such delicacies in The Cairn, did you, my dear?"

"I did not," Tsonia confessed, noting the Overseer's obvious pride in his table.

"I was sent into this wilderness to carve a civilization from the hinterland," DuFrain chuckled. "And of course to deliver The Cairn's famous bricks." He gestured for her to sit in the chair next to his. With a wave he beckoned a scrawny serving boy to pour the wine, and a frightened looking skeleton of a man in a baggy tunic to begin plunking out a complicated tune on a lap harp from his stool in the corner. "It's a fearsome task," DuFrain continued, "but the Lords of The Green Cities knew I was the man for the job. And as long as I control the flow of their precious bricks, none of them dare to oppose my efforts. Why from this modest keep, I'd say I'm probably one of the most influential men in all the land."

DuFrain prattled on and on throughout the meal and before she'd had her fill, Tsonia had his full measure taken. He detailed the provenance of every morsel that passed her lips, each more exotic than the last. In between he bragged on his prowess and success as the Lord Overseer, and cursed the shortsightedness of those noblemen who thought him ill-suited for anything grander. With each goblet of wine the serving boy poured, DuFrain's bravado and belligerence grew apace, all to the rather discordant music of the poor harpist.

On a particularly sour note, the Overseer wheeled on the musician. "Improve your performance, cur, or I shall adorn a pike in my courtyard with your head!" he seethed. Tsonia pitied the harpist, whom she thought might well strum out a jolly tune in a tavern somewhere. The courtly music demanded by his master was clearly beyond his skill or talent.

"Peace, Lord Overseer," Tsonia urged in a placating voice, laying a gentle hand on DuFrain's arm. "Your harpist toils in vain for his music cannot compete with the melody of your sweet voice. Reward his efforts and dismiss him."

"As you wish, my dear," he smiled, before snapping at the man "Be gone cur, and take your head with you as reward, empty though it may be!" Bowing and scraping with many words of thanks and praise for the generosity, the harpist quickly departed.

"The hour grows late, my dear Tsonia." DuFrain swallowed the last of his wine before continuing. "Now that you are seduced, shall we adjourn to the bed chamber?"

Tsonia quickly turned her head to hide the effort it took to contain her laughter at the impudent nobleman's suggestion. Could this self-important, aggrieved little pup of a man truly think he had been seducing her this entire time? The idea amused her.

DuFrain misinterpreted the gesture. "She blushes!" he said with a smile, and continued in a gentle tone, "How unexpected and delightful. Fear not, my dear. I assure you our dalliance shall be conducted with the utmost discretion."

"Of course, m'Lord," Tsonia replied once she'd composed herself. She intended to give the nobleman a night he'd not soon forget. "Do lead the way."

Tsonia found the bedchamber, like the man, soft and ostentatious. The silk sheathed pillows competed for attention with the delicate ceramic wash basin, and the ornately carved bed posts. But the dominant feature of the room was one she quickly recognized.