The Tattooed Woman Pt. 22

"W-w-wha?"

She gave him an indifferent shrug, "Looks like you're going to die after all, what a pity."

The realisation that the woman had been playing with him this whole time, that his efforts were for nothing, burned, and blood spilt from his tortured lips as his mouth worked, "Y-you evil... b-bitch."

Fiamma shrugged and then frowned as she contemptuously flicked at a speck of the man's blood that had landed on her sleeve, "I'm a Dark Elf sweetie, what did you expect?"

She looked back at him, her hard pitiless eyes narrowed, and her words were filled to the brim with a full measure of scorn, "You know, it's hardly surprising you were ejaculated from this magical school you spoke of. After all, what use would they have for such a mewling creature as you? This ridiculous display is pathetic! If you want to live, then get up off your fucking knees!"

He snarled and the woman mocked, "Is that it? That's all the fury you have left? I've seen Dark Elven children with more passion! You're weak! Nothing more than another performing Human monkey, barely fit for slavery. I have no use for weaklings! So, by all means, feel free to just lie down there like the pitiful whimpering coward you are and fucking DIE!"

His hatred for the sneering Dark Elf blazed ever brighter as her scornful words lashed him, his mounting rage seemed to lend new potency to his magic and a trickle of fresh strength to his limbs. Swearing sulphurously, bleeding and powered by nothing more than a searing desire to shove a smouldering fist down the woman's throat he staggered to his feet, "Y-you... vile c-cunt! I'll k-kill you."

She laughed in his face, and pointed dismissively at the hellhound, "Ha! You can't even kill that!"

With an incoherent scream of rage, he unleashed the blazing fury within him. Unbridled magic howled forth, uncontrolled and ravening. It engulfed the barghest like a destructive scorching hurricane and the black-furred monster was ripped asunder with a thunderous detonation that hurled smoking bloody chunks in every direction. A gory splatter of hot fetid blood sprayed the man from head to foot as the force of the blast knocked him from his feet.

Groaning in pain he crawled back to his knees, "F-fucking k-kill you..."

The Dark Elf smiled down at him.

Quintus was still spitting defiance and struggling to rise when the darkness finally took him, and he pitched forward in an unconscious, twitching heap.

Fianna had actually been pushed back almost a full pace by the blast and her magical wards flickered brightly for a moment, but otherwise, neither the explosion nor the gruesome detritus it produced had touched her. She gazed dispassionately at the fallen Human before prodding him ungently with the tip of her blasting rod. The man groaned, eliciting a baleful chuckle from the Dark Elf, "Better mages than you have tried boy, but we'll see... Oh yes, we'll see."

...

Kasa Dur stared over the walls as she touched the jagged tear that marred the skin of her face. Despite her hurriedly applied healing cantrip the wound from the Fir Bolg arrow still stung, and she gave a sigh of exasperated irritation as her fingertips traced the angry scar.

The old Orc standing nearby gave her a sidelong glance and grunted, "Scars are good. Be proud, for they prove courage."

She shook her head in disgust, "Not going to help me get laid though, are they?"

The Orc laughed, "if Orc, then yes. Orcs admire courage above all. Soft skin means soft heart and Orcs do not pander to such weakness. Strength, courage, honour: these are important things. Looks? Ha! Not so much."

He turned to her with a mischievous feral grin, "But do not tell my mate I said this, or she would honour me with a few more scars for my trouble."

Kasa chuckled and looked out from over the walls. It was not an encouraging view.

Burned embers still glowed among the scorched ruins of the nearby murdered village, and the pall of smoke that hung over distant Elsinore spoke eloquently of the fate of the people there. The heaped bodies of Fir Bolg and Draugr littered the fens and reeds surrounding the tower and there appeared to be no end to the numbers in the besieging army that surrounded them.

Ravens bearing word that Miosgan Meadhba had fallen under siege had reached her some days ago and the news had galvanised her from her moping and boredom. By her command, the nearby fishing villages had been evacuated, along with almost all of the servants from her tower. The village headman had protested vociferously at her "imperious and hasty" decision and had initially refused to obey until she threatened to burn the damned place to the ground herself in order to drive the bastards off.

Her soldiers, what few there were, had gathered every scrap of food they could find and as many good-sized boulders as they could carry and conveyed them into the tower. At the same time, she had them digging pits and setting spike-filled traps until they dropped.

After a week of frenzied work, the enemy arrived.

Using the magister's scrying glass, she looked out from the top of the keep, across the bay, as the attacking horde fell upon distant Dorrin's Point. The town had a larger garrison and a more skilled, and more sober, magister, and she knew her aunt was as hard and ungiving a bitch as she had ever met.

Smoke from burning buildings oft created an obscuring haze but even so, she watched as fire and lightning scoured the walls of the distant keep as the enemy pressed their assault. Clouds of arrows fell like vicious barbed rain and figures tumbled from scaling ladders in droves as the unending battle raged without let-up. Even so, her aunt held the tower and threw back every attack for five endless bloody days and nights.

Then the dragon came.

They heard it first, even from miles away its unearthly scream chilled the blood and set heart and limb trembling with fear. Then the beast emerged from the cloud, swooping down through the smoke, a great winged shape larger than a galley. It was a veritable mountain of muscle, horn and fang, covered in glittering scales of impenetrable hardness and driven by ancient intelligence and immeasurable spite.

The monster slammed into the ground crushing those among its own front ranks who were too slow or dumbfounded to flee and advanced on the keep, ignoring the pitiful arrows, bolts and spears that harmlessly bounced from its hide like rain from a roof. Upon reaching its desired mark the beast reared back and then with a bellowing roar, there was a brilliant flash as it unleashed its burning venom at the tower.

After five long days of hard and bitter fighting, the dragon reduced the keep, and everyone in it, to a blackened charred ruin in less than an hour.

Kasa swallowed as she watched the aftermath, as the surviving townsfolk and villagers were herded at spearpoint into the ruins of the market square. The magical glass she spied through spared her no detail as the terrified men, women and children cowered before the dragon as it emerged from the smoke that billowed from the destroyed stronghold and crawled atop the townhouse to look down upon them with cold, unsympathetic eyes. Its mighty tail flicked from side to side almost like that of a hunting cat and sizzling ichor dripped from its jaws as it began to salivate.

The screams of the people were mercifully brief as the monster unleashed its searing venom over them, but the Dark Elf had to look away from the gruesome sight as the thing dropped down into the mess of charred bodies and began to feed.

The next day, at low tide, the enemy horde began making its way across the strand towards her position.

For three days the enemy assaulted the broch in an endless series of frenzied attacks, and for three days her little garrison spat their defiance and hurled them back from the walls.

During that time the dragon lay unmoving in the ruins of the distant town, seemingly bloated and slumbering after its feasting.

Then, towards the end of the third day, as the blood-red sun began to set, turning the sea to fire, the thing stirred. It stretched for a moment, shook itself, and then its outstretched wings began to beat slowly, lifting the monster ponderously into the air.

Kasa turned from the spyglass and spoke quietly, "It's coming."

She looked at the woman standing nearby and smiled, "Are you ready?"

Magister Artemesia Ria had been a drunken disgrace for most of the last century. She was even more of an outcast at this remote rock than her current commander and she had failed at just about everything she had ever set her hand to. She had failed at being a magister and at being both wife and mother, and when her family had finally turned their back on her she had retreated into the bottle and allowed the haze of drunkenness to numb the bitterness that was all life seemed to offer her.

But despite her innumerable weaknesses and failings, Kasa had found that the broken woman still possessed at least some measure of courage and in between her bouts of puking and shaking she had fought long and hard in defence of the broch.

Days ago, she had wept as Kasa explained what she wanted from her, and it was with bowed head she acknowledged the woman's commands and set to work.

Now she held out the long heavy bundle she bore, "The blacksmith worked without sleep for days on it and I've poured almost every bit of magic I have left into the thing but," she hung her head in shame, "it still won't be enough."

Kasa took the javelin from her and admired its sleek deadly lines as she tested the balance. Looking up from the weapon she grinned, "It looks lethal enough to me, what else?"

"I've covered the tip and blade in the deadliest poison I could concoct. I brewed it from mermaid venom and a single drop would like as not kill an ox so for fucks sake don't prick yourself with it, or let the Orcs lick it or anything."

"Good enough, it'll do."

Looking back at the Magister, Kasa favoured her with a chilling vulpine smile, "Our enemies are arrogant fools Artemesia, and they mistake cruelty for wisdom. Instead of destroying us immediately as they should have, they gave us time to prepare thinking we would fear them," she snorted contemptuously, "they will learn that we are Dark Elves, and we don't fear things, they fear us!"

The Magister shook her head sadly, "But it won't penetrate dragonscale Commander and I know of no art in this age to craft anything that can."

"We shall see. Now time for you to be off, how many can you take?"

The woman drew a breath, "I drew the largest circle my power and skill allow. I can perhaps take six with me through the portal, and only as far as Miosgan Meadhba. I do not have the craft to do better, I... I'm sorry, if I had not been such a drunken fool for so long, I might have done more."

The younger Dark Elf chuckled, "You did well enough Magister," she rested her hand on the woman's shoulder and looked into her eyes with a smile, "I have no complaints, go with my blessing."

"Who will I take?"

Kasa didn't hesitate, "The blacksmith and his apprentice, the cook, two of the wounded from downstairs and my aide."

"Erm, you know she won't leave."

Kasa laughed, "Then knock her out, cast a spell on her, drug her. I don't care what you do, you're a magus, you figure it out, but make sure she goes. And Artemesia..."

"Yes?"

"Look after her for me, she'll be pissed. Tell her... Dammit, I don't have the words, tell her something soft for me."

"I will."

As the Magister turned to leave Kasa spoke again, "When you see my mother tell her I remained here with my command in obedience to her word," she chuckled darkly, "when you see my sister tell her I'm sorry I cut her nose off to spite her face and I wish her well. Tell her I expect her to name one of her ridiculous children after me, the prettiest one of course."

Kasa watched as the sorceress vanished down the stairs into the bowels of the broch before turning back to the walls. The dragon was closer, and the besieging force had withdrawn a distance in anticipation of the impending destruction it would wreak. She sniffed and glanced at the scarred old Orc who stood at her side, "Do Orcs still worship the gods of war? Because I think we could probably use a hand about now."

The Orc grunted, "The war gods fled along with the rest when they abandoned us," he spat over the walls contemptuously, "Orcs do not worship things that flee."

Overhead there was a rumble of thunder that set the many ravens that were roosting in the distant trees to flight and Kasa grinned as she looked up, "Well, that's not creepy at all."

She turned back to the Orc, "So, no afterlife for you? No Heaven, or Hells?

The scarred warrior grinned, "When we die, we go before the spirits of our ancestors and if we are worthy of their mighty company, they welcome us into their hunting grounds where we fight and feast," he winked at her, "and fuck, until the last darkness takes us all."

Kasa chuckled, "That doesn't sound so bad."

The Orc turned its gleaming yellow eyes to her, "When we are dead, I shall look for you. You come with me, and I will take you there and you will see for yourself," he patted her on the back, "you would have made good Orcish woman I think if you were not so damned small. But you have a fierce spirit, so maybe in spirit realm you will be bigger, like real woman."

She looked up at the approaching dragon and nodded, "I might just take you up on that, it's not like I'm going to get a better offer anytime soon."

The dragon landed before the broch with an impact that shook the very ground. From this close, Kasa could see it was a truly monstrous thing, a gigantic reptilian creature with mighty bat-like wings and a tail that could casually sweep aside full-grown oak trees. Its gleaming eyes blazed with hideous intelligence and ferocious hunger as it lumbered forward towards the broch with a bellowing roar louder than a thunderclap.

Kasa licked her suddenly dry lips and tried not to collapse in sheer terror. She drew a breath and turned to the Orc, "Ready?"

He nodded.

The great beast reared back as it drew a seemingly endless rasping breath, and huge razor-sharp fangs were revealed when its jaws opened as it made ready to spew forth an irresistible gout of livid scorching venom.

With a warcry of his own, the Orc hurled the poison-coated javelin right down the thing's throat.