The Song of Roland Ch. 22

Author's Note:

If you've noticed, my posting on Literotica has become far more sporadic. As a result of my own time issues due to my work, I'm trying something new: shorter chapters. Instead of writing 20k-25k word chapters, I will be splitting these up into more managable chunks, with the intent of publishing a chapter every week and a half to two weeks instead of once a month.

Please Let me know in the comments section which you would prefer: longer chapters or shorter publishing time. You guys are who I'm posting this for :)

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Roland stood, trapped in the long moment between recognition and response. His oldest friend stood before him: a woman of meagre birth, but of mighty value. As her eyes fell upon his stunned expression, the red-maned man felt a chill go up his spine. Triss' harsh, raspy tone cut through the din of the crowd like a jagged knife through butter.

"Roland! Gods, what a sight!" The old shieldmaiden exclaimed, rushing forward through the crowd, brushing aside parishioners as she wrapped him tight into a bear hug. He felt the breath escape from his lungs as the mighty woman lifted his feet clear off the ground. She swung him about as though he were a lesser man, despite the difference in height. His lingering injuries twinged as she gripped him; she had half the strength of a Succubus.

At last Roland could stand it no more. "Grh- unhand me, woman!" He said, pulling at her arms as they clung fast to his waist. Triss laughed aloud and dropped him immediately, dumping Roland with unceremonious grace to the ground. He landed hard on his rear.

"That's no way to speak to speak to yer superior!" She blared, taking on the commanding tone of voice she'd used so often when they had served together. Her foot stomped, and Roland jerked in place, his old instincts telling him to leap to attention. He ignored it, grumbling as he instead picked himself up off the ground. The two exchanged a long moment of silence as they appraised one another.

Triss was older than he, by the better part of a decade at least. Her green eyes sparkled with as much verdant energy as ever, though the right was clouded slightly, half-blind since childhood. Her trim, mousy hair was pulled back, pleated in three places upon her scalp to minimize interference. Her face was as Roland remembered it: weathered, wind-blown and care worn - but comely, in the same way the serrated edge of a knife blade could be considered artful. The only thing that marred her visage was that old patchwork scar, like a bloodied river's numerous tributaries running from her chin up to her cheek.

Triss judged him in turn. Stretched across her windswept face was that half-angled grin of hers. She wore it like a diagonal knife-cut as her eyes slid across the length and breadth of him. Her leather armor creaked as she shifted in place, swatting him hard on the shoulder.

"You look good, Roland!" Triss paused in her revelry, considering the thought. Her hand reached out and brazenly took his chin in hand. She inspected him more closely, turning her head to one side, so her good eye could take the full of him in her unblinking vision.

"...Too good. What happened to ya?"

Roland batted away her hand. "What nonsense are you warbling, woman? Would you rather I look dead?"

Her eyes twinkled with ridicule. "I'd rather ya look like you." She poked his cheek. "...Where'd yer scar go?"

Roland bristled. "Which scar?"

"'Which scar,' he says!" Triss let out a huff, "The next words outta yer mouth better be 'up my arse,' or that's where yer empty head is goin'!"

"Step back, lass." Roland countered, "I'd hate to hit a woman, even one as churlish and oddly-shaped as you."

"Ha! Well, at least yer temperament is as sour and shriveled as ever." Triss' grin remained, but he saw the subtle shift in her eyes. "What're ya doin' here, boy?"

"I stopped being a boy after the first arrows hit the shieldwall at Kirkheim." Roland said, attempting an affectation of joviality. Triss saw through him immediately.

"Pipe down and answer me honestly now, Roland." Her eyes moved back and forth across the sea of white and grey-robed folk, her left hand drifting slowly to her sword belt. "These aren't your kind of vagrants."

"I found Gosvin." He replied, and she spat at his feet.

"I'm done jesting with you." Triss said. "Tell me honestly, lest I begin to suspect foul play." Her thick eyebrow quirked, "Ya fall in with another one of them soul-suckers? Is that what this is?"

Roland's heart leapt into his throat. "You shut your fucking mouth." He snapped. "You swore to me, Triss."

Triss' face twisted into an uncomfortable frown. She shifted back and forth upon her feet, glancing away from him. "Aye, I did. And I wouldn't have asked, were the circumstances anything but what they are."

"No." He said flatly. "We're here by chance. My party and I got caught up in the battle the night the Imps arrived." Roland nodded his shaggy mane in the direction of Carl, sitting half-slumped against his horse. Kelsea was at his side, her hands touching him, trying gently to gain his attention. He only barely lifted his head at the sound of her voice. "That man ya rescued was part of our group."

"Carl, was it?" Triss said. "He's been driftin' in and outta consciousness for the last day or so. Half-thought that the beast had eaten him when she dropped him off onto the ground like a sack of potatoes."

"Twas a... Harpy, no?" Roland asked with feigned concern. "We saw her snatch him up, right in the middle of the battle. What's one of them doin' so far south of the Border Forts?"

"Ask her yerself." Triss grunted, "We drove off the beastie before she could feast on his tender bits. She's been following us at a distance for two days now, circling us like a damn vulture."

Sly bird. Roland thought, Found Carl the help he needed, and then stuck around to make sure he'd be taken care of.

"Seems you've been busy, boy." Triss said, glancing about. Her easy smile had returned. "Half the town's a charred wreck, corpses still littering the streets... I s'pose I shouldn't have expected anything less of ya."

"Should I have laid out some gilded linens for the Hellstriders to march upon?" Roland retorted, "We fought off a demon incursion. The least this town could do is look the part."

"Fair enough," She said, shrugging. "I was just hoping ya would have learned a thing or two in the time you've been gone."

"Since when did I take to your version of 'wisdom' anyway, Triss?" The two shared a laugh. The smirk died upon his lips however as Kelsea approached, making a beeline for them the moment she spotted the unfolding discussion.

"...Roland?" She said, sliding past the other parishioners as they dispersed. The secret Succubus glanced over in Triss' direction, her eyes flicking from Roland and back to her, reading something in the way they carried themselves. He saw the slightest twinge at the corner of Kelsea's lips.

"Hey." He said, biding his tone and picking his words. "What news? Is Carl...?"

"Carl has been grievously injured, but it's not a fatal wound." She said, "Almyra will have to take a look at him immediately."

"Captain Fabian said he had patched him up as best as they could. But the Harpy had already done most of the..." Kelsea trailed off. She abruptly turned to take the measure of Roland's companion. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The seasoned mercenary let out a hefty harrumph. "A soldier who just got through a week of hard riding up a hostile mountain pass to save yer sorry asses, cultist." Triss replied in a mocking tone. "And who are you, girl?"

"My name is Kelsea." She replied. Her lips tightened and her brow pulled down. It was minute, but Roland could see the rising ire in Kelsea's eyes. "...Can Roland and I help you with something?"

Triss whistled in a low tone. " 'Roland and I,' is it?" She cast a sly grin in his direction. "Roland, you dog."

Roland ignored her, "Kelsea, this is Beatrice. She's an old friend, from back when I sold my sword."

"Triss, this is Kelsea, my..." An old lie arose from the depths of his mind. "My daughter." Triss' eyebrow quirked.

"By the light of Gosvin!" Kelsea exclaimed, "m-my sincerest apologies, Miss Beatrice." She said, sliding into the role of the obedient child. Kelsea lowered her head and extended a hand. "Father never told me about you. I had just assumed-"

"-That I was just an itinerant mercenary, here to rough up yer dear Da?" Triss chuckled, shoving Roland's shoulder hard enough to make him backpedal in the snow. She took Kelsea's hand in a firm grip and roughly shook it up and down. "Nah, nothin' so grand as all that, girly. And call me Triss: I'd expect yer sweet sire didn't talk much about me to yer mother either, eh?"

Kelsea's face betrayed no expression. "...And why is that?"

"I'll leave it to yer father to tell the tale, should he wish to." Triss said, winking with her bad eye.

"By Gosvin's flaming beard, would you button your damn lip, Triss?" Roland growled. "This is my daughter, not some streetwalking harlot!" Kelsea's cheek twitched. "Spread yer seedy rumors elsewhere. Better yet: there's a tavern on the north side o' town. You can find a warm meal and an empty bed; mayhaps there's enough ale in there that ya can drink yerself to death as well, yeah?"

Roland turned to Kelsea, keeping his back to Triss. "I know yer worried about Carl." He said, placing a hand atop her head. "But ya gotta trust me. yeah?" He stared hard into her blue eyes. "He's going to be all right: if you're that worried, just ask the Priestess what you can do to help, arright?" His grip tightened on her, "I need a minute alone with Triss."

Kelsea nodded. "Of course, Father... And then you'll come check on him with me?"

"Aye, I'll be there soon." He said, "Let me know if anything happens, okay? He's gonna make it through this. Just you watch."

"Thank you... Father." Kelsea stepped forward, at first Roland didn't understand, until she wrapped him tight in a chaste hug. He was caught off guard, his hands extending up instinctively to pull her closer to him. Recognizing the error mid-move, Roland jerked down and held her in a more familial fashion. Kelsea intonated a sob, leaning her forehead head against Roland's neck.

Roland sighed, smelling the sweet scent of Kelsea's hair in his nose. "Aye, I'm worried too, girl." He patted her back in short, slow motions. "Stay strong, yeah?"

"Yeah." Kelsea reluctantly pulled away from him and turned, her expression emotional as she moved to follow after Carl, who was being carried away on a crude stretcher. She turned back to wave at them. "It was nice to meet you, Beatrice!" Triss grunted and waved back.

Roland and Triss stood together the cold wind of the mountain air ruffling past the both of them, They watched as Kelsea's form drifted farther and farther away into the crowd. His old mentor kept her smile pasted upon her face just long enough for the Demoness to be out of earshot.

"Who's the girl, Roland?"

Roland turned his head, feigning ignorance. "What d'ya mean?"

Triss let out a terse tsk. "Don't be a shifty arse, little brother. You know what I mean. What fool's errand have you caught yourself up in, this time? I know the way you think: what has that doe-eyed little waif told you, that's made you her sworn sword?"

Roland bristled. "I'm not her 'sworn sword.' She's my-"

"If she's yer 'daughter,' then your daughter wants ta' fuck your brains out, Roland!" Triss heaved a disdainful huff. "The girl couldn't take her eyes off you the whole time I was here."

"She is protective of me."

Triss guffawed. "Aye, 'protective' would be a word for it. You want to hump her too, you transparent ponce. You're still watching her, even now!"

Roland turned his eyes away from the alluring sway of Kelsea's hips to glare at his old companion. "What are you trying to do with this, Triss?"

She shrugged, "Seems like an obvious answer: I'm lookin' out for my friend and his naive, shatter-glass heart."

"I'm fine." He said.

"Are you?" Triss retorted, "You've been fingering that new dagger of yours the whole time we've been talking, and..." She paused. "Wait, what happened to your old one?"

"Lost it." Roland said, shoving the overlong dagger hard back into its sheath. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle.

"You. Lost it." Triss said. "So all those speeches meant nothin' then, aye? Those drunken oaths spoken around the campfire were all wind. And that time you made us double back to search a bloody battlefield for the trivial thing? All pointless?"

"That's right." Roland lied through his teeth. "I lost it down the gullet of a Hautviech." He added, providing the cause - though not the true reason - for its abandonment.

Triss stared at him for a long moment with her good eye. Her wicked smile widened, spreading her scar across her face like a glutted riverbed. "Yer Da's gonna be pissed." Was all she had to say to set him off.

"Fuck him." Roland snarled. "And fuck you too, ya prying snoop."

Triss cackled. "Ha ha! Yes!" She shoved him hard in the shoulder again. "I have missed you boy: you're so damned thin-skinned, you make it too easy."

"One day you're gonna cross a line with me, Triss." The scarred man grouched.

"You soft-hearted scrump." She replied, prodding his shoulder. "Can't you just admit you've missed me?"

The words caught him off guard. Roland brushed at his stubbled cheek with his hand to cover up the frown that grew upon his face. He thought for a long moment. "Aye, it's good to see you again, Triss. Just... been a rough road gettin' here."

"I can relate." She chortled. "Gettin' ambushed for days by Demons on a mountain pass is harrowing, to say the least." Triss put a hand upon his shoulder, her voice dropping low in volume. "Seein' you again at the end of it though, made it just a shade more tolerable."

When she moved a little closer, Roland stepped away. Triss huffed. "Prude." She pointed out the Succubus, walking slowly alongside Almyra as the two led Carl away upon his horse.

"So who's the girl, Roland?"

Rolands eyes lingered on Kelsea for far longer than they should have. "Leave it be, Triss." He said at last, turning away so she could not see the look that built upon his face. An awkward silence fell between them. The Hellstriders were packing up and heading for the gate, marching in the general direction of the inn. The wind had picked up, and the blistering cold was beginning to swirl with snowflakes.

"...I suppose I ought to hobble my horse and find me my room then." She finally said, either too tactful to continue the ribbing or aware that she really was reaching his limit. "We'll talk tonight, aye? Or have you been so Gods-smacked that ya don't enjoy the fun bits of livin' now?"

"Woman." Roland said, stopping in place just as he was about to walk away. "I will drink you under the table."

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The afternoon and evening were a confusing blur of moments for Roland. He walked through them in a daze, still stunned to have reunited with his oldest living friend. He visited Carl soon afterwards, who had lapsed into a fitful unconsciousness. The right side of his face had been nearly decimated by the Succubus' balefire. Seeing the two sides of him was a lesson in contrasts.

He was flanked on either side by Almyra and Kelsea, one doing everything in her power to heal Carl, the other doing everything in her power to keep herself together. Far from wanting to have the conversation that Roland was dreading, Kelsea huddled over Carl's body, assisting in any little way she could Almyra's efforts.

"He is going to need some time to heal." Almyra said. "My skills are proving less effective than I was expecting." The Priestess' copper gaze glanced over in Kelsea's direction. "...Your doing, I assume?" Kelsea nodded, never taking her eyes off of Carl's pained face.

"Just once, but yes."

Carls legs were exposed as well, displaying the cracked and scabbed skin of his feet and malformed toes. Though Almyra's efforts had smoothed the edges, the scars remained. Almyra had dressed his bandages and huddled him into a bedroll. Carl's breathing was shallow but steady. Roland nervously fingered his knife.

"He saved my life on the wall." Kelsea said. "If there's anything I can do-"

Almyra frowned. "He just needs time. The healing process will be labored, and the poor man has endured an immense amount of trauma. We're lucky to have found him in as good a health as he is."

"If it turns out that you can't..." Kelsea trailed off. "I could always just-"

"No." Almyra said immediately. "You will not. By the Light of our Lord I beg you not to."

Roland concurred. "The Hellstriders will notice if half his face gets remade in an afternoon. We have to give it time." The helpless look Kelsea returned only reinforced his growing sense of unease.

"After all this time, they've come at last." Almyra said, shaking her head from side to side as her braided black tresses shifted back and forth. She looked like she'd aged years in the space of a week. "If they'd been here just a few days earlier, we could have..."

"The land of 'might have beens' is a perilous place to dwell, Priestess." Roland said. "They're here now, that's all that matters for your people."

"And what of you two?" Almyra replied. "From the way their Captain talked of it, they will be actively seeking you out amongst the general populace. He thinks we may have already been infiltrated by demons. A group of strangers in the midst of a religious community is likeliest to draw their initial attention."

"We'll figure something out." Roland replied. We can't leave, anyway. He thought, looking at Carl's prostrate form and Kelsea's downcast expression. Curse the girl and her maddening pity.

"I can't protect you if you are discovered. You know that." The Priestess said. She almost sounded apologetic.

"Nor should you, Almy." Kelsea said in soft tones. "We can take care of ourselves."

"Not against them." Almyra replied. She reached out with her hand and put it atop Kelsea's, threading her fingers through her own. "We hired these mercenaries for their fearsome reputation. These are men dedicated to slaying demons in all their forms. Forgive me for the observation: but you are thankfully not malevolent enough to threaten a group as numerous as they." She turned to Roland. "We must hide her."

"No." Roland said, "I have a friend in the Hellstriders who has met her already. It'll only draw more attention to us. Better that we hide in plain sight and diminish the threat she poses."

"I'm not a threat." Kelsea said, stroking the unburned side of Carl's face. It was coated in sweat. He was running a fever.

Roland felt a sensation like he'd just been punched in the gut. "I... I know that, Kelsea. I was just meaning-"

"I know." She sighed to herself. "I know what you meant." The Succubus stood up and brushed herself off. It was an odd experience: seeing her live and act in her 'human' form for so long. Time was once that Roland would only catch sparing glimpses of it in towns and villages before she shirked the false cocoon for her unholy visage. Yet somehow she was as exotic now as she'd been when she was a tail-bedecked, purple-skinned monstrosity.

"I'll be back to check on him tonight if that's all right, Almy." Kelsea said, casting another long look down at Carl Hale's upturned face. "I need a walk to clear my head."

"Gosvin protect you, Kelsea." She replied, "Do not worry for Carl: he will be safe with me until you return."

"You should get some sleep too." The Succubus insisted. Almyra's gentle laughter carried through the swirling tarp above. The wind rippled and twisted as she did so.