The Tattooed Woman Pt. 10

Ashunara led Muriah across the camp. The swordsman was sitting upon a log by one of the campfires and the Captain could see him all but groan as he spied the two women making their way towards him. She grinned, "Here she is swordmaster! Your first pupil, eager and keen for your tutelage. Her name is Muriah."

The swordsman took in the woman's miserable scowl, "Oh, she looks it."

"Ha! T'is just nervous enthusiasm, I'm sure."

"Right."

The Captain gave him a wicked grin and handed the man a metal key, "Here you go, you might have need of this. Teach her well swordmaster, beat her if you must and I'll not hold it against you. I look forward to seeing what progress you make."

The swordsman watched miserably as the woman gave him a disgustingly cheerful wave and sauntered off. He turned to the captive, "So..."

She snarled at him, "I need no lessons from the likes of you!"

The man shook his head with a resigned sigh, "Yup, this is going to be as much fun as I thought."

The temple building situated at the far end of the acropolis had no door across the portal, but at least it had a roof and solid enough walls. A brazier within was lit and illuminated the interior with a flickering light that cast restless shadows across walls painted with images from ages past. Beyond the brazier sat a great boulder of granite, some glacial erratic that had been dumped here aeons past, when the world was covered in a frozen layer of frigid ice.

Ashunara gazed up at the wall, into the cold haughty face of a tall woman, garbed in black, and holding a long spear. Her hair was wild, and dark, and hung down to her waist. Her eyes, even in this faded image gazed down at the Dark Elf and seemed to hold her gaze such that it took no small amount of will to look away.

"T'is The Morrigan."

The voice came from the shadows and Ashunara spun about, her blade leaping from its scabbard with the metallic song of cold steel.

The figure that shambled forward was aged and cowled, armed only with a broom and she cackled with amusement, "I mean you no harm Captain."

Ashunara blew out a breath as she eased her sword back into its sheath, "I'm sorry crone, you startled me is all for I was lost in thought. What was it you said?"

The old woman shuffled forward and into the light, gesturing at the faded picture on the wall with the gnarled end of her broom, "Yon is an image of The Morrigan, Queen of Night, that you gaze upon dread Captain."

"I have heard the legends. Was she a human woman?"

"Oh no Captain, she was of the Sidhe they say."

"The people of the mounds?"

"No, though their kin perhaps. The people of the mounds are the daoine sith. The Morrigan was of the Danu, a powerful and ancient spirit folk, though some among humans now call them fallen angels."

"Truly?"

The woman moved to stand alongside Ashunara, "Who can say Captain, for that was so long ago that none, not even the elves now know the truth of it."

Ashunara looked at the old woman, "You have some knowledge of this lore?"

The woman cackled, "So I should Captain, for I've looked after this shrine for many a year."

The Dark Elf turned to the woman, "Apologies again, I am Ashunara, Captain of a free company. I have young ones in my camp and while we have fires, I was hoping I might find better shelter for them here."

The crone gazed at her for a long moment before speaking, "All are welcome to find such shelter here as they may Captain."

Ashunara nodded, "I thank you. Is there anything you need? We are no longer as well supplied as we were, but we have food enough to share at least."

"Some of the woodland folk still leave me a crust or two from time to time. I do not go hungry Captain, but it is a kindly offer."

The Dark Elf looked about the place, "Do you abide alone? What do you do here?"

The old woman cackled and held up her broom, "As you see and as I say, I look after the shrine. Usually, I have only the crows for company, but sometimes a traveller will shelter here, and I listen to their tales. The woodland folk are kindly enough to leave me enough to eat. There was a human man here only the other day, with a tall woman with foreign magic. He gifted me some fine stew and she sang for me. So, I am not lonely."

Ashunara nodded, "I met them both, and heard the woman sing. I'll have some supper sent to you once it's made."

The woman grinned and turned back to her sweeping.

...

The swordsman looked at the proud-looking Dark Elf standing before him and sighed. He gestured to the log where he had been sitting and set his blanket down upon it, "Tell you what, why do you not do me the honour of having a seat there a moment and I'll fetch us a drink and perhaps we can talk."

The woman huffed, "I do not see what there is to talk about slave," but even as she spoke, she sat herself daintily down upon the blanket he had set out for her.

The man passed her the mug of warm mulled wine he had been nursing. She sniffed at it suspiciously before taking a sip, "Adequate."

He nodded, "It warms the blood a little upon a cold day at least. Now, what is it I can do for you?"

She looked at him and frowned in confusion, "I do not understand, I have been sent to you as a punishment, a humiliation, nothing more."

"You think so?"

"It is obvious. That vile woman seeks to make a mockery of me."

"Hmm, perhaps, but would you rather be leashed like a dog outside her tent? You might gain a few bruises and lumps at my tutelage, but I'll at least offer you a fair chance to return the favour. And as for the Captain, she made you look an utter fool earlier because you lacked the skill to stop her. Would you not rather instead see her beaten and on her knees at your hand?"

The woman snarled, "You seek to manipulate me," but even as she spoke her eyes gleamed at the very thought of seeing her enemy humiliated.

The man laughed, "Of course I seek to manipulate you towards my own designs. But that does not mean that there is no potential gain for us both to be found here."

"What gain? I have heard it said that you enjoy the touch of Elven skin, but I am no slattern to flirt and cavort with a human or fall into his bedroll because he can wave a sword about with some marginal skill. All I see is a man falling over himself to carry out the command given to him by his Mistress. Do you fear her so much human?"

Muriah was taken aback when instead of expected indignation and anger the man burst out laughing, "Dear Gods, the only things I fear are tedium and boredom, and while milady is admittedly most comely that is not the reason I make the offer to tutor her."

"Then why?"

"Because it is a challenge! That damned woman reads me like a bloody book and in this, she plants her hooks with artful cunning and skill. I have seen her fight, and she is no novice. Even with my tutelage, the odds of you besting her are slim, but the chance exists! And I can at least let you put up a credible fight if nothing else. I can no more step away from such a challenge than I could lop off my own head and use it as a football. Her gain is keeping me from mischief, my gain is that my boredom is alleviated, for I would enjoy teaching my craft to any willing student. But the question remains, what do you gain?"

Muriah mused, "Did she not say you could simply beat me if I did not attend your instruction? Why not indulge yourself at my expense?"

The man stared at her, "I have in my time killed men, women, orcs, beasts, ghouls, and every manner of foul and murderous creature, but it is not my practice to raise my hand to anyone who could not fight back, and I have no intention of starting now. I offer you the chance of being something other than the woman's drudge, it's up to you if you wish to seize it, but I'll not force it upon you. Not for her, not for anyone!"

The Dark Elf pondered before looking back at the man, "What do they call you, human?"

He tilted his head and pursed his lip, "Call me Claíomh, it's as good a name as any and it serves."

"Are you any good?"

He grinned, "Good enough."

...

Cassie had avidly watched the two as they practised. It was fascinating! So much like some strange dance, and she found herself absent-mindedly swinging a short length of stick and counting a cadence to the rhythm of their strokes as the crude wooden practice blades the swordsman had crafted clacked and beat against each other.

"It's almost like a drumbeat at festival dance, tap, tap tappity tap; tap tap tappity tap," mused the girl.

The man had started by moving the woman about, very much like a dance. She followed as he led, circling, moving back and fore, taking small steps, then longer, starting slowly and then moving a little faster, using the sticks a little harder. All the while he would point things out, or sometimes pause a moment to adjust the position of her limbs, "Widen your stance a little," or "bend your knees just a bit more, try to keep your weight evenly spread."

The girl couldn't help but giggle at the woman's language. She'd worked in a tavern cleaning tables and the like when it got busy, and many were the nights when a rough crowd would be in their cups and get to arguing, or even blows. She had heard a lot of swearing, but the woman's ability to curse was wonderful to listen to, especially in that strange, near-musical way Dark Elves had about their speech.

When she'd mistimed a stroke and received a hard rap on the side, she'd cursed the man for a "vile ill-bred whoreson", but Cassie couldn't help but admire her stubbornness when, after taking a moment to catch her breath, she stepped back up and raised her little wooden sword again.

The swordsman had looked about as the woman took a moment to regain her breath and spied the girl, but she was surprised when he beckoned her over to him. She glanced at the tattooed woman sitting nearby, but she was looking up towards the shrine and appeared lost in thought, so the girl scrambled to her feet and shyly approached the man, "Sir?"

He passed her the wooden sword and gestured to the Dark Elven lady, "Here, you two look to be about the same size, my reach gives me too much advantage. Stand like so, yes, hold the sword as such. Now I want you to move it like this. You'll match strokes in time to my count and tap blades a few times, here, here, here and here. Got it?"

Cassie frowned, "But aint I too scrawny for the fighting?"

"Slender."

Both Cassie and the swordsman looked in surprise, for it was the Dark Elf who spoke. She sniffed and glanced away as if disinterested, "Slender, not scrawny, there's a world of difference girl."

The swordsman grinned, and then felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Glancing around he spied the tattooed woman watching, her green eyes glittering in the firelight, but if she had some objection to make, she kept it to herself and said nothing.

Cassie had spent most of her young life engaged in hard physical work, scrubbing pans, cleaning floors, polishing, fetching and carrying and the like and she was a lot stronger than she looked. After the first shock of impact, she was able to grip the handle of the sturdy wooden truncheon the man had crafted for practice, but even so, the muscles of her arm had begun to burn by the time they stopped.

Claiomh held up a sword, "Look now, this here's what some folks call a shortsword, on account of it being a sword, and short see?"

Cassie giggled as the Dark Elf rolled her eyes, "Get on with it human."

The man smiled, "Now like all weapons, a shortsword has advantages and disadvantages. It's a poor choice for fencing, but excellent for close-in work and particularly good if you find yourself fighting alongside friends and allies. Now the basic killing move for a shortsword is the thrust, but it's important, for novices, to remember not to overextend. If you do that some bastard will likely chop your fucking arm off. So, we'll start with the short thrust to the body. Now, some fighters dance about like bloody fairies, twirling this way and that, some even spin. Now listen close, because I bloody hate that. If you turn your back on an enemy, you lose sight of them and their blade, and you practically invite them to kill you!

"So, I'm going to teach you basic fighting, not pretty flowery crap. It's cute for showing off, but fairly useless and we don't have time anyway. Now hereabouts most fighters, well most experienced fighters, wear mail or at least a padded gambeson and you'll likely not get through that with an effective blow, though you can wind them if you get a good hit in. But to do real damage you aim for joints, the face, under the armpits, their arms, hands, legs and anywhere else where you can hurt them. Some fighters forget to wear a gorget, and even if they do a good stab to the throat can still take an enemy out of the fight.

"He gestured to the Dark Elf, "When the Captain rapped your hand remember that's normally done with a bladed edge and you'd have lost a finger or two. It's a dirty business and we're not interested in even pretending to be fair."

Over the next couple of hours Cassie and the Dark Elf picked up an interesting array of bruises, and they were both sweaty and tired by the time the man called them to stop for supper.

Cassie all but staggered back to slump beside the tattooed woman who sat quietly working on the comb she was making. Eventually, she commented, "T'is a dirty dangerous hobby Cassie, fighting. You sure it's a thing you wish to learn?"

The girl looked at her with an anxious expression, "Do you not think I should? I mean after all, I'll not be getting into fights working, or I hope not at least."

The woman sighed, "That's not what I said, only that it's a rough business is all."

"You think I'll get hurt?"

Putting aside her whittling the woman looked her in the eye and smiled, "You'll get hurt regardless Cassie, for I don't believe it possible to go through this life and avoid all hurt. But fighters sometimes invite it upon themselves at least a little," she sighed, "still, if it comes to a choice between sheep and wolf, I know which I'd pick. It's up to you girl. He's a good teacher at least."

"I... I thought it might vex you a little."

The woman grinned, "No Cassie, I suspect if I become vexed it's likely folks will know of it soon enough, but I'm glad to see you make friends."

"Friends! With him?"

"No, he already likes you well enough, for he's one of those killers who are at odds with their profession and strangely good-natured. I meant her."

Cassie spluttered incredulously, "HER? I doubt that very much. Why would she give a fig for someone like me?"

"Hmmm? Oh, she's alone and frightened, though she hides it behind bluster. We'll see," she shrugged with a grin, "mayhap I'm wrong."

...

The Orcs that had gone out hunting had returned with a pair of young wild pigs that they had run down and slaughtered, as well as a few good-sized hares, while Maggie and a few slaves under her direction had foraged a goodly number of mushrooms. The sturdy cook and the little nun who helped her had dug a half-circle of small burrow-like holes in which they had set fires and using shaved sticks the young ones had gathered they set to impaling chunks of pigmeat and mushroom and cooking them over the fires like skewers. By using a number of fires, they were able to cook more than a dozen at a time and soon everyone had their own and was gingerly blowing upon the roasted meaty chunks of sizzling pork.

By the time they had managed to devour the first a second batch was all but ready and young ones and Orc alike squealed in delight as they were handed out.

Nyx grinned and waved a skewer at Maggie in salute as she happily chewed before turning to the Captain and wiped a little grease from her chin with the back of her hand, "Damned if I don't think that woman could make a feast out of a leather belt, a sows ear and two potatoes."

Ashunara nodded, being too busy eating to answer and passed over a flask.

Nyx sniffed, "What's this?"

"Mulberry gin, got some from that blonde tart who kept company with Gorsini. Seems she was feeling a bit worried I might still spit her for trying to charm me, so she thought to bribe me with some booze."

"Clever lass. She was a tall bint though; you think she wraps those long shanks of hers around Gorsini from time to time?"

Ashunara sniffed, "Doubt it to be honest, he's... well, t'is only an impression but I would doubt he'd make so familiar with those under his command."

Nyx eyed the Captain wickedly, "Bet he wouldn't mind though for she was striking enough, wouldn't you say?"

Ashunara muttered unintelligibly and Nyx hid a smile as she enquired innocently, "Sorry Captain, I didn't catch that."

"I said if you like that sort of thing."

"What? A bit of long-legged blonde muff. Why I bet he..."

"Wipe your chin leftenant, I swear you eat like an Orc sometimes."

Nyx grinned as she took a swig of gin.

The Captain wiped her own chin, "Hey, I see your pet human's been spending time with our newest pet."

"At your instruction Captain."

"She is a pretty wee thing though is she not?"

Nyx laughed as she mimicked the Captain, "If you like that sort of thing," she sobered slightly, "you really going to give her another chance to fight for her freedom?"

"Not sure, I really just need an excuse to ransom her back to her people without looking weak. I mean I need a slave of my own like I need a hole in the head, but I can't take her home. Can you imagine what would happen if the little fool went off on a tirade to my sister? She'd be strung up by her tits in less time than it takes to boil an egg. Besides, joking aside I watched your man giving her instruction. She was still a mouthy cow, but she was putting effort in at least. Oh, and he had Cassie at it as well."

"Fuck me, that's playing with fire. Told you, he's an arrogant prick."

Ashunara grinned and waved a skewer, "Want to make a bet on how long it lasts before she tears his arm off or something?"

"That's not funny."

"I don't know, it's sort of funny."

The veteran swallowed another mouthful of burning liquor before shaking her head at her Captain with a resigned grin.

As evening drew in and the shadows lengthened the young ones were shepherded up and into the temple building where it was at least a little warmer, and where the roof provided a modicum of shelter. Roseanne had offered to help but when Maggie saw the way she kept casting her eyes back at that callow-looking human wizard Maggie had taken pity on the lass and sent her scurrying off with a happy smile and a skip in her step. Despite her muscles aching Cassie had offered to help and so she and the solidly built cook had ushered and cajoled the children into the shelter and tried to settle them with stories and slices of winter crabapple.

The tattooed woman had ambled along in their wake and settled herself by the open door where the smoke from her small fire caused no irritation and where she could look up at the stars as they appeared.

As the evening wore into night Cassie felt increasingly restless as her tired muscles ached a little. She wandered about the temple, careful not to step on or awaken any of the small, blanket-wrapped bundles that lay close to the warm brazier.

The slave girl looked about at the faded images upon the walls, and she swallowed nervously as she found herself staring up into the painted eyes of the tall dark garbed woman as they cast their stern and watchful gaze down upon her. The painting was very large, and the tip of the woman's spear reached all the way to the ceiling. Even now, after all those endless centuries the haughty look of cold command in those eyes was daunting and the girl shivered.

Before the painting, towards the centre of the chamber squatted a great misshapen boulder of granite. It was a mighty lump of obdurate rock and Cassie drew a breath as she drifted towards it open-mouthed in wonderment, "They say a God stood right there."