The Duchess of Lust Ch. 03

"Yes," Ketrik said with a faint smile. "My people are a damned tough and stubborn lot."

"Don't need you to tell me that," she grumbled. She lifted her sleeve, revealing a nasty scar that had been left by a barbarian's axe in a nasty skirmish from only a few days before. Thankfully, the alchemists had tended to the wound quickly, turning a potentially nasty wound into just a mere scar. It was a mark she would wear with pride, though, like all the others.

"Skewered the bastard that did it, though, but it was a hell of a fight." She frowned and thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, won't that be a problem? Me showing my face there, after fighting and killing one of their comrades?"

She found it strange that the shaman hadn't flinched at all when she'd described killing one of his fellow barbarians.

"Far from it," he answered. "My people respect strength. Your triumph over one of their own will be something they respect and admire. Better for you to come, than someone who has never faced them in battle."

"So I'm a better delegate than the duchess, then?"

Ketrik flashed a brief, knowing grin.

"Not exactly. She has been...blessed by my gods. But that is a long and private tale. Better for you to ask her yourself."

"Ketrik, I just saw my liege fuck her senseless and spill his seed down her throat. You really think she has anything else to hide from me?"

Ketrik's eyes widened a bit, but seemed intrigued, maybe even aroused, rather than spiteful or jealous.

"She undertook a ritual as part of negotiations with the army attacking her city. This ritual honored our gods, and blessed her in the eyes of my people. Let us say that...such negotiations are a bit like the negotiations she just undertook with your duke."

Neryth leaned her head back and laughed. Gods, the duchess was full of surprises.

"So she's quite the skilled diplomat, then."

"You could say that."

"A shame such tactics probably won't work on the other dukes and duchesses. Too prim and proper and stuffy," Neryth grumbled.

"Well, I didn't think her wiles would work on Duke Lucan, either, and yet here we are."

They were interrupted by the return of the stablehand, who bore a short sword. He looked nervously at the shaman, and Neryth snapped at the boy to hand it over. He did so, slowly and carefully. Ketrik drew the blade and gave it a few practice swings.

"Not as good as a weapon of my people...this one hasn't been blessed by the gods. But it'll do."

"With a shred of luck, you won't have to use it at all."

Together, they mounted the horses and guided them out into the courtyard. After a shout from Neryth, the guards opened the gates, and the pair rode out into the moonlit countryside.

Neryth's eyes scanned over the dark, silent farmlands, her eyes alert for any sign of movement or trouble. Most of the farms had been abandoned since Lucan's uprising, with the farmers fleeing to one side or another to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Neryth didn't blame them, and Lucan would allow them to all return to their homes and their duties once Garnoc's head was on a pike.

Nothing moved, save for a few birds and some stray goats.

"So what exactly are we riding towards?" Ketrik asked. "The more I know about the layout and the defenses, the better."

"This duchy doesn't have one big fancy city like Fellhaven," she explained. "It's a scattering of smaller towns and fortresses, each ruled by a lower baron, and all a part of Ravenmark. Most of the barons have declared their neutrality, with a handful going for Garnoc, and others for Duke Lucan. A few miles up ahead is one of the largest forts in the duchy: where Garnoc has made his stand. It's a large castle, but Garnoc doesn't trust the barbarians completely, so they remain encamped outside the walls."

"Foolish of him. Such a lack of trust in the Iron Blades will, in turn, make them distrust him."

"My thoughts exactly. And maybe you can tip things over the edge."

"Maybe. But it will not be...simple."

"What do you mean? Think they need gold to sweeten the deal? Gods know that Duke Lucan already tried that, but they turned away all the offers."

"No. My people don't all just want gold. If they are to make such a decision, they'll need to know the gods won't scowl on them for doing so."

Neryth cocked her head, considering his words.

"So you mean...some sort of ritual like the one the duchess did, to prove Lucan's worth?" She laughed. "So all I have to do is fuck a bunch of barbarians?" A wicked grin spread across her dark features. "I admit my preference usually leans towards women, but if a savage orgy with a bunch of mercenaries does the trick..."

Ketrik snorted and shook his head.

"No, not that sort of ritual. That was a ritual of peace and understanding. My cousin Rathgar, who commands the mercenaries, is devoted to our gods of the war and the hunt. So a ritual to honor such gods would help show them that Duke Lucan and you are honorable and worthy of an alliance. And I can convince him to give you a chance."

"So such a ritual probably involves...hunting something or killing someone." She patted her sword and grinned. "That's what the duke pays me for."

"Yes, a ritual of blood and steel. Most likely a duel of honor, with you or another knight of Duke Lucan facing against Rathgar or one of his champions."

"To the death?" It would not be the first time, of course, that she'd put her life on the line for the Duke.

"Depends. Sometimes, the gods can smile upon a battle, even if no life is taken. Likely you will fight until the gods are satisfied."

"And how can you tell?"

"Through the holy flames that will be lit before such a duel." He then shook his head. "But we are getting ahead of ourselves. We need to find a way to get to my cousin, first. Then we can establish the rules for the ritual."

They rode on through the night, past wheatfields, pastures and empty farms. Neryth scowled as they passed by a large estate that had been reduced to ash and rubble. The wine merchant who had owned it had thrown his support behind Lucan, and in return, Garnoc's knights had ransacked the place, burned it to the ground and put most of the merchant's kin to the sword. Other farmers, merchants and lesser nobles had suffered similar fates. Lucan could be harsh and even cruel to his enemies, but he would never shed the blood of innocents as Garnoc had.

She wasn't usually the type to fight for ideals instead of fortune, but she had half a mind to kill Garnoc for free to avenge those innocents.

She caught Ketrik gazing sullenly at the burned buildings as well.

"Who did this?" he asked softly.

"Garnoc," she spat. "Their only crime was siding with the rightful duke."

Ketrik sighed and murmured something under his breath: it sounded akin to a prayer.

"And this will be the fate of Fellhaven and the other cities of the Empire, if King Ulrik is not stopped. No...it will be worse. Their wrath and hunger is great. Far greater than this false duke," he said.

"Swaying Ragnar to Duke Lucan's side will be no small feat, I suspect," she said. "And do you really think we can take on this Ulrik?"

"Alone? No. With the aid of other duchies, and if I can prove the worth of my cause to some of the other champions and chiefs...then possibly."

She stared at the burned estate for a few more moments, before sweeping her gaze back to the muddy road. After a few minutes, she brought them to a halt atop a low, rocky hill. A flock of sheep grazed nearby, blissfully unaware of the war and tensions around them.

Neryth pointed to the distance. The moon cast its dim glow over the valley, illuminating a large castle with three huge towers, and an impressive but cracked wall. In front of the neglected fortifications was a large camp of tents made of furs and hides, and banners that displayed the skulls of beasts and men alike.

She spotted lights flickering in the darkness around the camp. Her keen eyes caught glimpses of mounted patrols moving about, bearing torches to light the way.

"Must be Garnoc's men, keeping watch on the perimeter," she said.

"Maybe they suspect betrayal or desertions from the Iron Blade mercenaries," Ketrik said. He dismounted his horse, then knelt and reached into his pack.

"Got any whiskey in there? Could use a drink before we get into this mess..."

"Alas, no. But I do have a way to help us." He took a few flowers and herbs from the pack, then looked around, his brow furrowed with concentration. Ketrik scrounged about, picking things up from the ground, seemingly at random: a few tufts of wool that had fallen from a sheep, some writhing bugs, a few flowers, and clumps of dirt.

"Making a meal for yourself?" she teased.

"Making a cloak, of a sort." He then arranged the ingredients in a strange pattern on the ground. "A way to make our passage through darkness easier. Have you flint and steel?"

Neryth dismounted and tossed him what he'd requested, then tethered up the horses.

"A lock of your hair as well," he said without looking up from his work.

"I'm no sorcerer myself, but I've run into enough magic to know that it's not wise to give away things like that," she grumbled.

He sighed and looked up at her, exasperated.

"Do you want an advantage sneaking through the shadows or not? A lock of your hair, just to make the spell work for you. On my honor as a-"

She huffed, drew a knife, and sliced off a few hairs and handed them over. He borrowed her knife, then cut off some of his hair as well, adding it to the strange pattern of items upon the ground. Ketrik murmured something in a guttural tongue, then gently sliced open the back of his hand, and dripped blood onto the ground atop the items that he gathered.

Ketrik ignited the hairs with the flint and steel, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench. The flames burned bright and red, then faded into dull dark ash, which he smeared over his fingers, then brushed over his face.

Neryth gasped and jolted with surprise as his face flickered, shadows dancing around it, making him far harder to see. Even from only a few feet away, the man was almost entirely shrouded in darkness.

She grinned once she recovered from her shock.

"Damned impressive, shaman. How'd you manage that?"

"Ancient secrets of my people. There is power in nature and in the land, it is just a matter of knowing how to unlock it."

He pointed down at the remaining ash, and she knelt to collect it, then smeared it over her face and hands.

"It won't last long, nor will it work on the horses," he explained.

"Let's get to it, then."

Without a moment's hesitation, she turned and trotted down the hill. As she moved, she looked down at her hands. The shadows embraced her, shifting and moving to keep her obscured. When they passed through a patch of moonlit ground, the shadows continued to swirl, keeping the light at bay.

"What other tricks do you know, Ketrik?"

"No sense in ruining the surprise or revealing my full strengths, captain. You, I am sure, would not tell me every move you know with that sword, right?"

Neryth merely grinned and kept jogging down the slope, closer towards the camp. Her eyes tracked the nearest patrol: it was about two hundred yards away and closing in. There were lots of boulders and dead trees scattered about that they could hide behind, so she ducked for the nearest fallen tree as the patrol grew closer.

Ketrik, though, kept running.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed after him, barely able to track his movements.

"Walking with shadows, captain."

His magic seemed powerful, but it didn't seem like it would protect him out in the open like that. She cursed and started to reach for her sword.

Garnoc's riders grew closer, the sounds of their banter echoing through the darkness. Ketrik continued to jog, still out in the open, less than a hundred yards from the soldiers. The distance shrank, and suddenly she lost sight of Ketrik.

The soldiers passed on by, riding right where she'd seen him last. They gave no sign that they'd spotted him, and rode on.

Neryth cursed again and broke into a trot, retracing Ketrik's steps once the soldiers had ridden off.

"Gods damn it," she hissed into the darkness. "About gave me-"

"Told you it would work," Ketrik's voice said from a short distance behind her. She whirled and glared into the shadows, just barely able to make out his silhouette.

"Aye." She flashed him a sheepish grin. "Should have just trusted your tricks, shaman." She looked down at her hands: the shadows still embraced her.

"Let me lead the way from here," Ketrik said. "I'll know what to say so Rathgar's sentries don't kill us on sight."

"Aye, that'd be a shit end to this strange journey, eh? Wasting all that magic just to get a spear in the guts..."

They walked on, closer to the barbarian camp, and the shadows drifted away and faded with each step. By the time they came to within a few hundred feet of the camp, the magic had faded entirely. But Garnoc's riders were far from sight, and now she was more worried about the barbarians.

She rested a hand on the hilt of her sword, eyeing the fur-clad figures she could make out moving on the edges of the camp.

Ketrik stepped forward, his hands raised. She tensed, pausing a few feet behind him.

"Hail, brothers!" he called out. The fur-clad sentries at the perimeter of the camp whirled. Some notched arrows, others drew blades and axes. One called out, alerting the camp.

"No need for alarm," Ketrik continued. "I am one of your own. Kinsman to Rathgar of the Red Omen."

Several of the wild warriors stepped forward, brandishing their weapons. Angry, suspicious eyes turned to Neryth, and she returned the glares in kind, her hand still on the hilt of her sword.

"And who is this one?" a warrior snapped.

"A friend," Ketrik said. "And one who may be a potential friend to Rathgar and the rest of you."

One of the warriors looked away from Neryth to hiss at another savage.

"Go fetch the chief."

As the warrior ran off, the others looked suspiciously out into the darkness. One eyed her for a moment, then grunted.

"I recognize this one. A chief of the rebel duke's armies. Why have you brought her to us? As a prisoner?"

Neryth and Ketrik both chuckled, but the captain kept her hand tight on her sword-grip.

"No," the shaman said. "But such explanations are best reserved for Rathgar."

A few tense moments passed, until a commotion rose behind the barbarian sentries. A dozen more fur-clad mercenaries joined them, regarding Ketrik and Neryth with suspicion and outright loathing. Several looked to be within moments of drawing steel to challenge her.

Another of the barbarians shoved his way through the assembled onlookers. He was tall and wiry, with thick dark hair the same shade as Ketrik's, but his face was free of tattoos and facial hair. He had a thin, lean and slightly handsome face with bloodshot blue eyes that seemed distant, as if his mind was occupied with something else. Two hatchets were strapped to his hips, and he wore simple chainmail and a cloak made of the hide of some reptilian beast.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of Ketrik.

"Cousin," he drawled.

"Cousin," the shaman said.

Rathgar's eyes flitted to Neryth.

"Is this how you you wish to celebrate our reunion, cousin? By offering me a woman for the evening? If so, you've chosen poorly. I don't prefer soft southerners."

Ketrik raised a hand towards Neryth, as if to stave off her retort, but the captain merely laughed, though she did take a bit of offense at being called 'soft.'

"And I don't prefer ugly northerners," she said quickly.

Ketrik's eyes widened, and several of the barbarians gasped. One even drew a knife made of bone and spat out a curse, but Rathgar cracked a grin.

"That makes two of us. Don't like ugly northerners, don't like soft southerners. Makes it damned hard for me to find someone to warm my bedroll."

"Well, since you're abstaining from pretty southern women, that just leaves more for me," Neryth said, beaming as she dropped her hand from the hilt of her blade.

That earned a few chuckles from some of the other barbarians.

She then bowed.

"I'm Captain Neryth, in the service of Duke Lucan, rightful lord of Ravenmark. At your service."

Ketrik cast a brief look over his shoulder, his eyes tracking the distant torchlights of another of Garnoc's patrols.

"We should speak in private, cousin."

"Right," Rathgar said. He turned and glared at his men. "Back to your posts! Just because we're in the shadows of a fancy castle doesn't mean you can slack off on sentry duty. By the arses of the gods, I can't believe you let these two get so close! You're lucky I don't beat your faces in. Go!"

The men grumbled a bit and scattered back to their positions, while Rathgar jerked his head towards the center of the camp.

Although Neryth had released her sword, she did not relax entirely. Her keen eyes still swept over the camp, mindful for any sign of treachery, and was especially mindful of the presence of any of Garnoc's men. If any of his knights were present, no doubt they'd scurry back to the pretender at once to report the mysterious visitors. The parley could turn to a bloodbath rather quickly...

But the camp seemed to be occupied solely by Rathgar's people.

As they walked past a large tent made of black furs, a distinctive sound caught her ears: soft grunts and hungry moans.

Curiosity flickered within her: she'd heard the Iron Blades could be insatiable lovers, but she had yet to experience such prowess and fortitude firsthand. She paused beside the tent, cocking her head to listen. By the sounds of it, two men were enjoying one another, and both voices were rising with pleasure with each passing moment.

Her curiosity rose, and she started to lean in to see if she could get a peek, but Ketrik's harsh whisper snapped her out of it.

"Come on. You can gawk later, if you like."

She flashed an unashamed grin and followed.

Rathgar led the pair to a small fire near the center of the camp, and a pointed look from the chief sent the nearby barbarians scattering away, giving the trio some privacy around the crackling flames. Ketrik knelt beside the fire to warm his hands, while Neryth stood, her eyes still sweeping about for trouble...or for any more lewdness from the mercenaries.

Rathgar opened his mouth to speak, but Ketrik cut him off.

"It's a long bloody story," the shaman said. "And we can get into it later. But for now, I have an offer. Garnoc is a man without honor, and Lucan is the exact opposite, from what I have heard. And with your help, he'll be able to overthrow Garnoc, then take down Ulrik. We can see to it that our gods are honored in the proper fashion, that our people won't be destroyed in this senseless mess of a war."

"We have a contract with Garnoc," Rathgar growled. "And Ulrik has a huge army. Tens of thousands. Even if we betrayed our employer and sided with Lucan, it would not be enough."

"Even the fiercest of wolf packs started small," Ketrik said. "Think of the glory. Hell, you could even be king. Defeat Ulrik, and the rest of the tribes will bow to you, and bow properly to our gods once again. We can go home to our forests and mountains and leave these futile wars behind."

"Garnoc may be a dishonorable bastard of a man...but to dishonor our contract with him would be a grave sin. The gods would spit upon us for it."

"Not if your new contract is approved by the gods," Neryth butted in. "Ketrik told me of the rituals, to prove my worth before your spirits and gods. I will offer my sword, my blood, my skill, for such an offering."

Rathar frowned at his cousin.

"You divulged the secrets of our culture?"