Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 13

"Alan," she finally breathed his name out as she broke the kiss. "Give me this. This could be the last chance I have to be with you. Tomorrow we rescue your wife, or we die trying." She teased him again, with that soft, cool flesh brushing against his own hard, heated length. "Please," she finally cooed the word out.

Alan lifted his hands to her waist, only to find she was still wearing her own leather tunic. In the darkness, he considered her pleas, and then nodded. Just once was all it took, that hesitant affirmation, before she impaled herself upon his length. Without sight, all he could go by was hearing and touch, and she was doing her damnedest to remain silent enough that the others might not be disturbed. She was supposed to be on watch, true, but they both knew little could sneak up on one such as her, even when she was otherwise occupied.

With rest of his senses straining in vain, the sensation of her tight body enveloping him was heightened. The feel of her sinking down, inch by inch was exquisite, until she finally hilted herself upon his length. She leaned forward, and once more her breasts press to his chest, her lips sought his own. She moved above him with a slow, almost loving pace, her every touch tender, her every kiss lingering and longing. For such a feral, seductive creature, in that moment she seemed to want to relish every moment.

His own hands teased up along her back, then he returned her kisses. He couldn't help it. Whether it was the danger of the situation, the lack of sight, or just the sheer emotion she seemed to show in that moment, she stirred something within him. He did not love her, no, but she clearly seemed to love him, and he felt she deserved at least a little happiness.

And this particular task was not exactly a chore.

Alan slid one hand back down to grip at her bare rear, and draw her into faster movements above him. The feel of her was unusual. So vital and soft, yet not. The coolness of her body, the fact she didn't breathe save to speak, it left only his own panting, and the subtle sound of their flesh meeting in the darkness.

Her sharp nails dragged along his chest, though he noted she was careful not to stress where the past few days' wounds had been newly healed. She moved faster over his form, rubbing those soft breasts against his chest, her thighs tensed as she supported her own weight to minimize every other sound. He kneaded at her rear with one hand, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin. His other lifted to grip at her hair.

The feel of her was amazing, the way her lithe body moved above his, the way she seemed to clutch at him, coaxing his climax forth. It was not a coupling that could last, for various reasons. He was so close, she seemed so needful, and there was the ever present threat that one of their companions could notice. Even the dark was no protection, for every one of them except himself and Vick could see easily through the blackness.

As quickly as he approached his own peak, Daphne reached hers first. With a barely muted cry, she arched against him, her arousal bathing his own member. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and her hands shifted to fist against his leathers, clutching tightly to that tough material. His own breath caught, and he began to release within her as well. He arched his body up to hers, every contour meeting the elven woman's in that moment.

At last, she lay still above him, and with a soft panting, he relaxed himself beneath her. He may not have got the true rest he needed, but the release she granted, the feel of her above him was invigorating. Finally, she drew her hands from that leather tunic, and reached to caress his cheeks in the darkness. A soft, tender little kiss was brushed across his lips with a feather light sweep of her own.

"Thank you, Alan." She murmured gently, then continued, "Promise me one thing."

His brows raised as he stared up to where he thought her own face would be. "What do you wish?" He couldn't promise her anything, without knowing what it was.

"I miss the old you. The confident you. The one that they talk about in tavern tales, the one that tamed a thieves' guild, the one that hunted me down when we were at odds. This new, confused, insecure you doesn't do you justice. If you're going to get your wife back, you'll need that decisiveness you used to have."

"I was wrong, so many times though..."

She kissed him again, then began to rise. "Sometimes, Alan, even acting on a wrong impulse is better than doing nothing at all, or letting someone like Vick take the lead. Remember that."

He nodded slowly, and a smile slowly touched his lips. She was right, really. Losing Elizabeth from his very manor had been a huge blow against his confidence, and for someone like him, that was sometimes all he had to rely on. He felt her withdraw from his body, then her hands carefully fastened him back up. In the darkness he sat up, then bobbed his head in the direction he last heard her movements.

"I will, Daphne. I promise."

Alan did manage to rest a few minutes as Daphne dressed herself. He was unconcerned when he heard the door open, and another minute later, the vampire struck a torch, and illuminated the room. The flare of light did much to begin to awaken the others, and shortly thereafter, they were assembled, and ready to proceed.

If any of the party knew what had transpired there in the dark, their visages did not betray it. The short rest had revitalized them all, as did the knowledge that the surface was near. Their boot-steps and the clank and faint jingle of Vick's armor were now joined by the faint whistling of wind across a stony entrance, echoing down those silent corridors. Where before, staring beyond the yellowed reach of the limit of their torchlight had garnered naught but darkness, now the pitch shadows ahead held the faintest outline of corridor walls, and distant steps reflecting starlight from above.

There was no telling, truthfully, how long they'd been down in those tunnels, but by any estimate, the hour should be close to dawn. As much as they all wanted to be out under the open sky again, they lingered near the stairs for a moment, to allow Daphne to rearrange those voluminous clothes of hers, donning goggles, mask, and gloves. Just in case.

Alan took the stairs carefully as they ascended. The worn stone had been exposed to the elements much longer than the main entrance, which had its overhanging stonework still relatively intact. He felt the stones shift unsteadily under his weight, and neither that, nor the loose masonry of the wall under his hand instilled confidence in the passage.

Once they broke the surface, they were some half a mile past the edge of Pinwood, out amidst an open, rolling field. Tall grass and the occasional shrub was scattered here and there. Fading mists still clung low to the ground, but the air was crisp and the wind picked up, offering a clear view of their surroundings. A few old scattered stones lay on the ground around them, along with a low, broken masonry wall about waist high, remnants of whatever had once housed the escape tunnel.

What caught Alan's eye first, however, was a large, broad branched tree in the distance. Rising upon a low hill a mile away, scattered bushes clung to the rise in the earth about it, while near to it, a large gray stone jutted up toward the sky, resembling nothing more than a crude pillar, with a massive spread winged bird perched atop it.

Alan's gaze fixed upon that scene, and immediately he began to run across the fields. Windhawk did a double take, then began to run beside him. The others fell in as best they could, though Vick in his armor and the short gnome Faringalia could hardly hope to match their stride. Only Daphne managed to catch up.

"What is it, Alan?" Daphne spoke without a hint of breathlessness, her gaze, or so Alan assumed, followed his toward the tree. Those damned goggles made it impossible to truly tell.

"I saw that tree and that stone in my dreams." Alan panted the words out, but kept running.

They ran and ran, and made good time. He noted the elven women watching him as if he might drop at any moment, but he wasn't that old, or that out of shape. The same couldn't be said of Vick, however, and eventually the fat man just stopped trying. Instead, the armored warrior trod along in the distance behind them all, keeping company with Faringalia.

As he neared that tree, Alan caught sight of a thin strip of lace, still dangling from one of the tree branches. It was tied far up, but looked to have been cut off. His eyes drifted across to the bushes where he'd seen the Stranger discard his wife's stocking in that dream, and caught a flash of white.

Windhawk grabbed Alan's shoulder, and drew him back suddenly. Alan glanced across to her with irritation, but her own eyes were fixed on something in the distance. Something which had escaped his attentions. Slowly, his own eyes panned about, and when his own gaze caught what she had been staring at, his heart sank.

The sky grew brighter with each passing breath, and the first rays of dawn lit the sky. As they leaped out over the canopy of a distant forest, across the fields they now stood in, those rays danced across the almost glossy obsidian sides of a tower, which rose up five stories from its base amidst the trees. Coated with that black glass, here and there glimpses of white stone might be seen amidst the seams between obsidian panels, giving the impression of a starry night sky. The rooftop, a cone of slate gray tiles, was broken here and there with hatches from which one might gaze through telescopes, or launch things airborne. The windows were of polished glass, blending in with the volcanic glaze of the tower's outer coating.

The Startower, which should lay scattered in long shattered ruins, stood as pristine as the day it was first built, looming over the landscape like a lone sentinel. Above its storm gray rooftop, a few vultures slowly wheeled about in the air, dark shadows against a sky that gradually brightened.

"Alan," Windhawk's voice was a broken murmur, thick with loss and betrayal.

"I know. I think, since the first dreams, I have known all along. I just didn't want to accept it."

The two stood in silence atop that hill, eyes fixed upon the distant structure. The home of their friend, who had been with them through so many adventures, stood restored. Its presence was no comfort. She knew their tactics, she knew their fears and their abilities. She knew how to hurt them worst, who would come up with what plans, who would respond in what way to a certain event. She'd been playing them all along. The only reason they were there, no doubt, was because she wanted them there.

Or rather, because she wanted Alan there.

Daphne turned her goggled gaze back past them at Vick's lumbering form, then shrugged. As the sun brightened, the vampire strode forth under that great tree, to take shelter in the shade of its branches. She reached up to tug at the strip of lace, then turned her gaze back to Alan meaningfully.

Alan frowned, then bowed his head. He rubbed at his face with both hands, then lifted his gaze again.

"Alright. So we know who we have to kill now." His statement was more for Windhawk than himself or Daphne. He knew Daphne would hardly hesitate to kill on his order, and he'd made his own mind up after that last dream.

The ranger woman nodded once. "Yes. I wonder, however, how she's not dead already. Unless she wreathed herself in the dark arts to sustain herself beyond."

"It's not something I would put past her." For all of the memories of the blushing, bumbling magic user, Alan knew that when she put her mind to something, she would do anything to achieve it.

Windhawk tightened her hand upon her bow, then suddenly froze. "Shh... do you hear that?"

Both Alan and Daphne went deathly silent, Alan beside Windhawk, Daphne near to that tree trunk. Wrapped up like that, and suffering from the lethargy that the growing sunlight inflicted upon her, it was no wonder that Daphne had failed to notice whatever caught the other elven woman's attentions. Long moments passed, and just when Alan was about to give up, he finally heard it.

Above them, the subtle creak of wooden branches that didn't quite match the rhythm of the breezing wind as it whispered through leaves and grass alike.

Slowly, Alan and Windhawk turned their eyes up into the tree above them. Daphne tilted her own eyes upward to gaze where they looked. Alan and Windhawk gasped as one. Above, two large creatures clung to branches clumsily, their silhouetted forms against the brightening sky were hard to distinguish. It was clear, however, that they weren't up there willingly. Someone had enticed them to climb up for the sole purpose of an ambush. From higher up, a soft laugh preceded the strum of fingers on lute strings.

"Oh dear gods," Windhawk whispered softly, just before the first of the creatures above leaped down toward her and Alan. The second one dropped down toward Daphne.

As Alan dove to one side, the Stranger above them began to sing, his voice rose high, carried on the stiff breeze that swayed those branches with each gust. Before the old rogue even hit the ground, he knew they were in trouble, as Vick's armor glinted off in the fields behind them, far away.

Furry paws impacted the ground between Alan and Windhawk, and black claws scored the earth. The creature reared back, standing upright, and opened its terrible beak to emit a strange, piercing, bird-like cry.

As he rolled to his feet beside the beast, Alan just hoped that he lived long enough to wring the bard's neck.