Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 10

Once past the gates of the Free City, the going was remarkably easy. The line of riders picked their way across the fields and farms surrounding Aethwin, and off toward the edge of the Royal Forests, just visible in the distance. Alan gazed out over the rolling hills and quaint farmlands, marveling over the transformation that had taken place over his lifetime. In his youth, more than a mile or so beyond the city walls was a dangerous place to be, with regular raids from local tribes of humanoid monsters, and even the more unsavory bandit group.

He remembered those first few forays into the wilds, after coin and comfort. Where once he and the others had challenged a goblin camp, now there stood a farm and pasture. Where Grunder Mace's bandits had waylaid them on the way home, laden with treasure, now there was just a field of wheat, swaying in the breeze. The actions of the Reavers and those adventuring companies like them, even if motivated by want of riches at first, had done genuine good over the years. Their progress had swept the worst of the forces of chaos away from the walls of Aethwin, and the patrols of the Count's men had kept the area clear and peaceful ever since.

It was little wonder that the newer crop of Reavers had such trouble making their name, they grew up in the shadow of his own generation. He shook his head to clear such thoughts, and looked back to the others. Garthur seemed lost in his own thoughts as well, his stout form riding awkwardly in a saddle made for someone with longer legs. Windhawk rode well ahead of the group, her sleek, leather-clad form upright in the saddle, her keen eyes and ears seeking out any sign of trouble. Not that they could be easily surprised out in these fields.

Vick, his helmet doffed, the sun glinting off of his bald head, was chatting merrily with the inquisitive splash of colorful robes and shock of fiery red hair that was Faringalia. What was it with their group and red headed magic users, anyway? From what Alan could overhear, Vick was telling her of their early adventures, the very same that the old rogue himself had been thinking on. To hear Vick tell the tales though, it had all been fun and games, and he had been the one pulling most of the party's weight. Perhaps not entirely untrue in those early years, though Alan remembered having to pull Vick out of his own self-inflicted trouble even in town more than once.

And then there was Daphne. Wrapped in her voluminous cloak to protect her from the sun as it soared high in the sky, she seemed to half doze in her saddle. She shared neither the early memories of the group, nor the true camaraderie of being a real part of the group. The Reavers had already been famous when she had been defeated and surrendered, and despite having been true to her word about the terms of her surrender ever since, she was still what she was, a vampire. And even putting that aside, she had been an assassin that killed for profit. True, that wasn't far off of what the early Reavers did, but at least they had some sense that the creatures and bandits they went after for bounty deserved it. The black blades didn't care if their targets were a heinous warlord or an innocent child, so long as the price was right.

It was a wonder that she'd even come. She was worse than useless in the day, just a sleepy, weakened target that could vanish into ash if her coverings were disturbed. There was no profit in it for her either, if they all perished on this trip, she would be free again. Even if she genuinely wanted him, if they succeeded, they would recover his wife and she'd be that much further from even the most slender chance of being with him. For a creature of darkness and shadow, nothing about her actions made sense.

As he considered Daphne, she began to slump over in her saddle. He hurriedly urged his own mount closer to her, and slipped one arm about her shoulders to steady her. She stirred from her sleep just enough to turn her head to him. Her expression was hidden under that mask and those goggles, and she didn't say a word. After a moment, however, she leaned in against his side, close as she could with the separation of their mounts. He held her like that awkwardly for a moment, before Windhawk's voice called out from before them, just at the eaves of that forest.

"Stay close so you don't get lost. From here on it should be a straight shot toward the Pinroot Wood area. Once we get to where I spotted them, then we'll have to dismount and slow down further so I can try to track them," As she spoke, however, she shot a glare at the dozing Daphne, who started upright, drawing away from Alan's side.

The old thief shook his head with a smirk as he looked between the two elven women. At least their quarrels were justified by their outlooks and their very beings, and not just some petty jealousy or power struggle. He could respect that, at least comparatively. His own gaze drifted back toward the gnome woman, and a frown crossed his features. Maybe he could do with giving her less of a hard time.

As they wound their way into the trees, the canopy overhead screened out much of the sunlight. Daphne seemed to perk up just a little, but the golden rays that still pierced the green tinted shadows about them were enough to keep her on her guard. Progress was slower than their trek across the fields, but still a bit faster than they would have traveled on foot, thanks to Windhawk's expert trailblazing.

The border of the Royal Forest that lay near to Aethwin lacked its own name, and for the most part was a lighter, more well scouted area than it had been in years past. Pinroot Wood, by contrast, was separated from the main forest only by a stony ridge some distance in, and designated as such simply because it surrounded the ruins of what was once Pinroot Keep.

As the day wore on and the undergrowth thickened, travel slowed. Alan had been hoping to keep the horses, in case the trail lead into the plains beyond the first, but it was becoming increasingly unlikely that they would be able to maintain the same pace through the woods for long. At least the going was peaceful. A few birds flitted through the branches above, and every so often in the distance, he thought he sported movement as some deer or rabbit darted off into the brush.

At last, as the hours dragged on, and the shadows lengthened, Vick called for a halt.

"We'll break here for a meal and a rest."

"I'll continue scouting ahead, we shouldn't be far away." Windhawk's soft voice drifted back to the others, as her lean form slipped from her saddle. Without hesitation, her lithe, leather clad figure slipped into the trees and disappeared amongst them as easily as a fish sliding through a babbling stream.

It was with some degree of jealousy, not desire, that Alan watched the elven woman blend into the forest. The inexorable march of years certainly handled her ageless people with the lightest of touches, while bestowing upon him slowed reflexes, stiffer joints, and what his wife liked to call a 'distinguished look'.

While he wished he had the energy to continue onward without rest, a quick glance about told him that the others were grateful to take a few moments to stretch their legs and take a quick break. For his part, Alan settled on an old, fallen log. It wasn't long before Faringalia approached, and hoisted herself up on the log beside him. A swift sweep of one hand smoothed her multicolored robes down over her lap.

"Sir Tinsley, er, Alan?" She was unusually reticent, as if carefully monitoring her own words to avoid the running chatter he found so irritating. "Count Varonne said your group had a history with these woods, or at least Pinroot Wood, but he wouldn't say what it was." She worried at her plush lower lip, frightened she had overstepped her bounds with that question.

"Ah, no, no he wouldn't," Alan's soft chuckle visibly set her at ease, "It was long ago, thirty years ago. But first, you know the history of the area do you not? Of Pinroot Keep?"

"Only that it used to be the center of civilization out here, centuries ago."

Alan nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, at least you're well enough informed there. In times long past, Aethwin was just a subservient village to the kingdom of Pinthan, out of Pinroot Keep. Those were rougher times, darker times. The kingdom, such as it was, scraped by in a world wracked by chaos, where entire years went by without summer, where famine and war stalked the very countryside.

One dark night, the king of Pinthan found himself besieged on all sides, by his neighbors, by the savage goblins from the hills, by some of his own people, risen in rebellion. He called upon the Abyss, and made a dark pact, taking one of their own for his wife, in return for the strength to save his kingdom."

Faringalia's little features twisted into a disapproving frown, "I have never heard of this."

"No, no one has, for that history was long lost. As far as the outside world knows, Pinthan stood for another sixteen years after that, before collapsing from within. The surrounding villages were freed to their eventual fates, eventually to be taken over by the current Crown. Pinroot Keep itself fell into ruin, and became a haven for all manner of dark and twisted creatures. It had an extensive series of subterranean stores and escape tunnels, and these were only expanded over the passing centuries."

The gnome fidgeted as she listened to the tale, then looked up to Alan, "But if all of this was lost to history, how did you know about this king?"

"There, in the ruins, we were going through to cleanse those tunnels when we came across a place of darkness. There were inscriptions that told the tale of the king's pact, then of the daughter he spawned with that demonic consort." His expression grew grim, "Her cruelty was said to be unmatched. Her people suffered as her influence on her father the king grew. On her sixteenth birthday, the old king perished, and she was to be crowned king. On the very next day, the priests and captain of the royal guard sealed her away in the catacombs beneath the castle, binding her inhuman side to prevent her ever emerging."

The small frame of the gnome woman shuddered, and she hugged her arms about herself tightly. "That's terrible, let's hope that she's long gone."

Alan nodded, in full accord. "Indeed. We can only pray that is the case."

Daphne had approached the two with such silence that Alan didn't notice her until those slender hands settled at his shoulders, "Story time?" She whispered in his ear, her own lips grazing along his earlobe, cool even through the dark fabric of her mask.

He cursed, nearly jumping out of his skin, but quickly calmed himself. He simply frowned to her, "I was just filling in Faringalia on the history of Pinroot Keep, since we're so close." His eyes sought hers in vain, only the darkened lenses she wore to ward off the sun's rays met him.

A gentle laugh rose from the darkness under the vampire's hood. "It's good to see you warming up to the girl, Alan. I was worried that you were going to let your personal dislikes interfere with the mission." She gave his shoulder a squeeze, then turned her attention to Faringalia.

The gnome offered both of them a weak smile, "I promise I'll do my best in this! We'll get your wife back soon."

It was a genuine sentiment, and one that was much appreciated, but it did little to ease Alan's growing anxiety. He was glad when Windhawk darted back out of the brush to rejoin the group. By then, they had long refreshed themselves and finished a light meal.

Alan rose to his feet as the blonde elf skulked closer, "You were gone longer than I expected. Did something keep you?"

The ranger turned her head to glance nervously over her shoulder at his question, but quickly seemed reassured that nothing had followed her. Her bow was in one hand, and an arrow was still clutched in her other. Finally, her tongue darted out to wet dry lips, before she responded, "Yes, I went forth to the border of Pinroot Wood, to try to determine where the two I'd seen before might have been headed. I didn't get to search, however, for on the way there I passed a pool just at the base of the cliffs below Pinroot. There was a woman there, blonde, with pale skin, washing a white dress."

"Elizabeth," Alan whispered the name. The news had his heart racing. It had to be her.

"I don't know, I've never seen your wife up close before Alan, only the woman I described to you from a distance. This one certainly looked similar, but I didn't get a good look at her the first time, it just didn't seem that important to me at the time. I'm sorry Alan."

The old rogue sighed and nodded. One hand clapped the elven ranger's shoulder. "That's quite alright my friend. You've given me hope, to think she could be so close."

"There is one other thing, she was alone. I watched her for a time, but there was no sign of any captor, or anything keeping her in the area."

Alan frowned deeply at that, but Vick roused from the light doze he'd settled into, his voice immediately rising as if he had been part of the conversation the entire time, "Then we need to get going. Whether she's your wife or not, Alan, she may know something about who came through recently."

The old rogue offered a nod to his long time brother in arms, then turned his gaze to the rest, "Alright, you heard the fat man, let's get going." He immediately instinctively ducked after that dig, and with good reason, Vick's meaty hand swung over his shoulders, barely missing him.

With a grin, Alan turned to gather the reigns of his mount, and hastened to follow Windhawk. They'd have to walk the horses from here on, at least until things cleared again. In single file, the party threaded their way through trees that were as dense as any Alan had encountered in his years of exploring.

It didn't take too long, perhaps a half an hour, before the steady babbling of a stream could be heard ahead. Windhawk slowed her pace as the forest began to thin. Not a few steps thereafter, she held her hand up. The short column stopped, with hardly a sound. The horses, however, seemed skittish, tugging at their reigns. Not a sound was made, which was disturbing in its own right.

Windhawk whispered back to them, "Leave the horses." She stroked her hand along the withers of her own mount, before advancing. Alan released the reigns of his own horse, which quickly backtracked the way they'd come. With some degree of confusion, the others followed suit.

Stealth was at a premium, so Vick and Garthur hung back, along with Faringalia. This left the two elves, on either side of Alan, to advance with him. They made their way to the edge of the treeline, where a grassy bank lay beside a broad pond. A stream trickled down a steep, rocky ridge on the other side of the pond, then another coursed its way out of the pool some dozen yards or so to their left. The sky, still lit by a late afternoon sun, opened overhead, and upon the top of the ridge across the pond, a darker forest loomed.

There, just a few feet beyond the edge of the pond, shin deep within the cool, clear water, stood a woman. Although she was rather tall, over six feet, she certainly appeared human. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her shapely figure, clinging along her spine and teasing the upper curves of her rear. Her skin was fair and smooth, a fine cream, while her figure was well curved, definitely fuller and stouter than those lithe elven women.

That extra mass was in all the right places, however, and the simple white dress she wore was soaked through, clinging to every rounded contour. As the trio watched, she bent forward at the waist, causing that brief skirt to ride up the backs of thick, smooth thighs, just to tease along the lower curve of her ass. She had a wooden bucket within her hands, and once it was filled with water from that pond, she straightened, lifting it up over her head.

The water cascaded down over her hair, over her every curve. She half turned as she let that water rinse over her body, eyes closed and full lips turned in a delighted little smile. Rivulets wound down over her creamy skin, along the full swell of those plump breasts, down amidst the clinging fabric plastered to her taut belly and broad hips. Finally, the water cascaded in silvery streams along her toned, bare legs, to splash back into the shallow, clear pond.

As lovely as she was to gaze upon, one thing was clear. She wasn't Elizabeth. Alan's face fell, and he shifted his eyes to Windhawk.

"It's not her," His voice was a hushed whisper, but he had no doubt the ranger had heard it.

It was then that the blonde woman turned fully, gorgeous blue eyes snapping open. She seemed to stare right toward where the trio was hidden, and Alan immediately went still. Had she heard him? Had she spotted them? His entire form went tight as a spring, ready to dart away.

And then the steady crunch of a heavy man's footsteps approached from behind them, each step punctuated by the jingling of mail.

"Hallo there, Lady," Vick's voice boomed forth, "I wonder if I could ask a few questions of you."

Alan winced. Vick lusting after this random woman was the last thing they needed. He glanced up to the warrior as he strode past their hiding spot, shoving through the brush. The corpulent Count's eyes were indeed fixed upon that vision before him, openly leering at the woman as she washed. It was the last thing Alan wanted to see at this point.

Faringalia tagged along behind the warrior, and shot an apologetic look to Alan and Daphne, "I tried," she began, only to cut herself off at Alan's signal. It was too late, however, for the woman in the water turned her gaze to the gnome, then to the bushes where the colorful little woman had been speaking.

A smile crossed the blonde's lips, as she turned to regard Vick. She folded her arms under her bust, which forced those breasts upward. Thick nipples jutted against the damp fabric, clearly visible through the nearly sheer, white material. "Well, sir, I guess I can spare a bit of time, if you tell your friends to stop their hiding. I'm not sure I like being spied on, after all." Her eyes glittered with mirth.

Alan cursed under his breath, and slowly stood. The two elven woman on either side of him did as well, rising to their feet with varying amounts of grace. Garthur, who had been well hidden well behind them, stepped forward needlessly. Alan couldn't fault the dwarf too much. He was an honest, straightforward sort, so remaining in hiding probably never occurred to the fellow.

The blonde woman looked each man and woman over in turn, and that smile never wavered. The sun, now low in the sky, cast her own distorted shadow out over the waters and to the shore beyond them. She then nodded to herself, "Well we have a right band of warriors paying us a visit this evening. Ask your questions, then, sir." An inviting smile and an intense gaze was turned upon the bald Count.

Vick's countenance immediately shifted to a gracious smile, and though there was still desire in the old warrior's eyes, it was a far more polite look. Alan had to admit, the fat bastard always could turn on the charm when he was inclined to.

"You do me honor, fair woman. I am Count Varonne of Aethwin, and my companions and I have come out here in search of a woman. Blonde, like yourself, but of somewhat shorter, slighter stature. She is traveling, unwillingly we believe, with a scoundrel of the woods, a scruffy looking dark haired fellow with a goatee, if I remember correctly."

The old rogue was impressed with the Count's recall for once, and without a correction needing to be made, he turned his attentions to the woman who still stood in that pond.

She didn't stay there for long, for after a moment's pause for thought, she began to advance on Vick. Tucking the wooden bucket under one arm, her other was held out to one side, for balance. "Well, that is a strange sight to be certain. I don't recall anyone like that coming through, but perhaps you would like to meet my sisters? It's likely that they may have seen someone, if these people you seek ventured near."