Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 14

"She felt so nice, the way her dress just hugged her curves, the way her arms settled about mine. I wanted to feel her hands all over me, not just resting at my back, and I couldn't help myself. I let my own touch graze along the curve of her hip daringly. I let my lips press to the crook of her neck, just a soft kiss that I knew she would notice. Yet she didn't say a word.

"Her lips were so gentle when she kissed my forehead, I wanted to feel them against my own, but she was a Lady of the court, and I... I was just a lowly scout. So I simply clung to her as long as she let me. When finally she slipped away, I swore again that I'd protect her, no matter what. She just smiled her beautiful smile, and then she was gone.

"It was the last I saw of her. A few days later, a runner intercepted our patrol, and told us that one of the elf lords, Lord Alsaeth, had murdered the king. Lady Daephraen had been among those who had pursued him. It took us the better part of the day to return to the Elf King's castle, and the place was in chaos. Already the nobles were beginning to break into factions, because there was no clear heir. A small team of us gathered, and we went to pursue Lord Alsaeth."

At this, Windhawk's features twisted into anger, and Alan drew back, alarmed. The action seemed to draw the elven woman back into the present, and she forced an apologetic smile. Slowly, she stood from where she had been kneeling, and turned her gaze in the direction of the morning sun.

Nearby, Faringalia fidgeted nervously, before finally, tentatively she ventured, "W- what happened then?"

"We had been on his trail for two days before we came across Lady Daephraen's body. She had been slain by beasts, or so we thought. It was crushing, knowing that the woman I had adored, the one who had supported me, who had watched over me since I was a mere child, was gone. She had been like an older sister, a kind matron, and a beautiful idol all at once. We buried her there, a quick burial meant to be a temporary measure, so we could retrieve her for a proper funeral on the way back.

"Then, then I suppose the real hunt began. My companions were as driven by the outrage as I, and we became as bloodthirsty hounds on the trail. It is said that the tradition of the wild hunt amongst the elves harkened back to days when our raiding parties would hound our enemies with the ferocity of the beasts of the forest, and never cease until they were torn to shreds. The stilted, ritualized pageant of today no longer resembles such a thing. No, only on that night did I understand where the wild hunt came from.

"I don't even remember much of that night. Something primal took over. My senses heightened, my focus was like a hawk, but at the same time, my mind became as a wild beast. We caught up to him shortly before dawn, and without hesitation, we tore him to pieces. Quite literally, with enchanted blades in hand we fell upon him, and cut Alsaeth to pieces.

"Soaked in his blood, with pieces of his once fine clothing still clutched in hand, we could only watch in horror then, as his body began to dissolve into mist. It reformed some feet away, clearly exhausted, but whole. It was then that we understood what he was. A vampire. The undead. An abomination in the eyes of all that is natural."

Windhawk's hands curled into fists as she watched the distant horizon, while Faringalia stared up at her, a shocked and yet curious expression on her feature. It was clear the little illusionist was seeing the story as just a story, rather than a personal history. Alan turned his gaze across to Vick, only to find the old Count watching their elven friend as well. His own eyes, however, were uncharacteristically thoughtful.

"It was clear, then, what we had to do," Windhawk took a deep breath then, and tried to relax enough to continue her tale.

"We had to destroy him, but we did not know where his grave was. Nor did we have the proper tools to keep him pinned. So one of our members, Saraela, began to whisper to the wind, and soon a stiff breeze started. It would disperse him if he tried to travel far as a mist. As he turned to run, we set upon him again. And again. Each time he reformed, we tore him apart, piece by piece. It slowed his progress.

"He was growing more angry each time, but in his weakened state, he could do nothing but endure. Some of us almost fell to his wounds, but when one of us was hit, they retreated to Saraela, who called upon the forest's blessings to mend their wounds. We worked like the wolves, approaching him from each side, retreating when threatened, only to run upward again. He managed to get further and further from where we had caught up to him, but it was in vain.

"We weren't trying to end him ourselves, but to keep him from taking shelter. As the first rays of sun tipped over the horizon, he had such a look of terror on his features. He screamed in agony as it seared him. It was not a peaceful death. He thrashed and wailed as he burned, and we all loved every moment of it."

She grew silent once more, and gazed back to the pile of ash where Daphne had been. Alan frowned. It had not been like that with Daphne. She was in pain, certainly, but she seemed to accept her fate, even embrace it. He wondered, if it had been such a welcome thing for her, why she had persisted in her state for so long. Then, as his gaze drifted back to Windhawk, the little cousin in the tale, he had some idea of why.

"Without the drive of the hunt's instincts, we had to rest. It was slower going back as well, we were still weary, we were still distraught over the loss of our kind, our friend. It was night time again when we came upon the place we had buried her, and we found only an empty grave there. It was then I knew that Daephraen was no more. That she had become an abomination, just like Alsaeth. I hated him all the more for that, but he was dead. There was nothing more I could do to him.

"So I let my hatred fester, and turn toward Daephraen. If she hadn't gone off after him, if she had only told me the threat would be from within the court itself, if she had let me stay by her side, she might still be with me. I hated her as much as I had loved her before, and it warped my view of things.

"From that day forth, I set out to hunt the woods, to destroy those unclean things I found there. The elven court was already beginning to tear itself apart, they did not miss a lone scout deserting amidst the chaos. It was only many, many years later that I met you, Alan. And Vick, and the others. It was like finding a second family. But I still remembered what had happened with Daephraen, so I never opened up. I never told you of my past, but you still accepted me."

Windhawk wiped at her eyes as she turned toward Alan, and gave him a quick hug. She then stepped away and did the same to Vick, leaning up to hug the ponderous, armored warrior. With a soft smile, she stepped back form them.

"Next, you're going to tell us Windhawk isn't your real name," the Count chuckled as he looked to her.

"Oh it's not, but I'd rather hear you call me by that, than deal with you butchering the pronunciation of my real name." She offered a grin, though her eyes were still red from crying.

Alan sighed and ran his hand through his hair, before turning away. He gazed across toward the Startower for a long moment. One thing still bothered him. "Windhawk," he was careful to keep his tone even, so as not to alarm her, "When we first ended up fighting Daphne, why didn't you tell us then that you knew her?"

There was a long silence, before the elven woman drew a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she finally answered, "Because I didn't know if... Daphne was Daephraen. I mean it was definitely her body, her face, but I was unsure how much of Lady Daephraen lingered there within her mind. We have met undead that were in full accord with the person they'd been before they were created. We have met those who possessed their previous memories and thoughts, but were of a completely different personality. And of course we have met many, many who were simply ravening beasts.

"When we first encountered Daphne, she gave no indication of ever knowing me. So I assumed it was the latter, though she was no ravening beast. But then, as we tracked her and those she was working for, I kept coming across little clues and obvious mistakes she had made, that made tracking them so much easier. At first I thought that whatever monstrosity was in her body was simply less skilled than she, but it quickly became clear that she was leaving those clues on purpose. She wanted us to catch her.

"Then she surrendered, and when it was decided to accept her surrender and keep her alive, I was of a mixed mind. I still hated her for what she had become, but part of me was overjoyed. The years passed, and I couldn't stand to think of her as Lady Daephraen. She was so different, and yet there was that core, that undeniable core that was still the same.

"This, this act here finally proved to me that it was still Daephraen in there all along. Alan, you're exactly the sort of person she would have adored most of all. A man of action without being reckless, someone who can get things done, who follows their heart. I was confused when she volunteered to come with us, but when she saved us, knowing that it would cost her her existence, when she told you to watch over me. I knew without a doubt, that was the Lady, not some monster."

Windhawk turned to Alan again, and once more, tears brimmed in her eyes. "She's free, now, isn't she? Not cursed anymore."

Alan nodded to her, "Yes, I believe she is." He wished Garthur was there, the dwarf always knew what to say.

Faringalia rushed over to Windhawk, and threw her arms around the elven woman's legs. She gazed up to the ranger, then offered a beam of a smile. "She is. And I know that she'd be happy that you've accepted her again."

The elf sniffled and nodded at Faringalia's words, then seemed about to break into tears. Vick, however, pushed away from his place near the tree, and strode toward them with heavy steps. His stride was slow, but once more had the strength he was known for.

"Windhawk, when we return, I will have a memorial built for Dai- Dea- er, Daphne. She wasn't the scum I always thought she was, and did right in the end, whatever her reasons." He then turned to point at the Startower with that black blade of his. "Now, however, we have to make someone pay. The one who started this all in motion. The one who hired the bastard who killed your cousin." At the last, he shifted to kick the fallen bard's body roughly.

Windhawk's sharp eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Alan thought she was going to go off on Vick. They shifted toward the tower in the distance, however, and she nodded. Her face contorted with the same rage he had seen when she cut down goblins, or ended undead.

"Yes, yes I think it's high time we send our old friend back to her grave."

In the rays of morning light, the three stepped up toward the hill, only to pause there. As one, they realized that someone was missing. Alan looked back over his shoulder, only to raise his brows.

The little gnome woman was stooped over the fallen bard, rummaging through his pockets.

Not that he could blame her. After all, it was something he should have done. If not for coin, then for any clues he might be carrying. "Ho there, Faringalia. Find anything of note?"

The redheaded little woman raised her head with a shocked expression, then blushed at having been caught. "Yeah, I think a few things." She gathered up her take, and walked back over to the group.

The bard's sword was magical, clearly. It had faintly glowing glyphs upon it. Everyone had enough in terms of arms, but an extra blade might come in useful in a pinch. Windhawk decided to carry it. There was a purse of coins and gems, which they allowed Faringalia to keep, along with a strange bag that had small, fuzzy objects within it that seemed to steadily pulsate and breathe. This, too, was allotted to Faringalia, for none of the others knew what to make of it. The lute had been destroyed during the confrontation, and none wished to salvage it.

Finally, there was the matter of a strange, small ivory key. Alan, at least, recognized it. "It's the sort Miena used to use at the Startower. It should allow us access within, if we come to a lock I can't bypass." That, it seemed, was enough, and they let Alan keep it on hand.

As they turned to depart, Faringalia once more paused, and gazed back to the fallen half elf. "Uhm, shouldn't we bury him, or something?" Even she sounded unsure.

Alan stared back at the Stranger's body, then shook his head slowly. "No, no. Let the scavengers of the wild have the bastard."

His pronouncement brought a grunt of approval from his two old comrades in arms, and as one, the party turned toward that distant tower. Their pace was unhurried, their destination clear. As a cool breeze whipped across the fields, as the morning sun crept higher and higher, they traveled with a terrible purpose.

It would soon be a time of reckoning for the Mistress of the Startower.