The Tattooed Woman Pt. 34

I hope folks are enjoying the story so far. Please leave comments, as criticism both positive and constructive is inherently useful. Plus, I like reading comments, so that's cool.

Again, a shout out to Avicia for their suggestions and much-needed help with editing this.

The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 34: Shadows of Wrath

It was near enough noon afore Ellén emerged from the trees and caught sight of the tower once again. The wreckage she had wreaked in her madness upon the landscape around that old keep was plain to see, with great gouges and scorch-marks marring the vista and marking where she had stomped and raged. Standing stones that had likely stood for a thousand years had been carelessly overturned or pulverised and lay scattered like so much rubble. While the great carcass of the undead beast she had thrown down lay sprawled upon its back, its chest ripped open, with wafts of smoke from its scorched insides still coiling about it like a fright of ghosts drawn forth from the barrows by the din.

She paused, nerves playing on her mind like talons scratching on glass, her fists clenched tightly in fear at her side, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she wondered what she could say to the girl, what possible explanation she could offer for being so careless with her life.

She blew a shuddering breath and swallowed, "I near enough got her killed! She's better off without me. She's better off without me and I should just go..."

Looking back up at the tower she shuddered as a tear slid down her cheek, "I... should go."

"'Tis a hard choice is it not?"

The voice came from just off to one side and Ellén spun with a startled cry, "Fuck!"

Adair sat on the grass with her back against a tree not ten paces away, her mother's fearful glaive grounded in the soft loam by her side and easily within reach. In her hand she idly toyed with a sprig of wild hawthorn. Her head was tilted to one side as she regarded the woman before her, and her lips were curled in the strangest of wry smiles.

With a snort she chuckled, "Such language. Do you kiss your lover with that mouth?"

The Dragon's gaze flicked to the spear and back to the gleaming eyes of the creature sitting quietly there in the shade, and a cold shiver tickled its way down her spine, "H-have you come to kill me?"

Adair sighed, "I thought about it."

Ellén sniffed and wiped her cheek, "I'm sorry..."

"I know."

"What will you tell her?"

The woman continued to braid the flowers in her hand and sniffed, "Nothing."

Ellén felt as if a knife had twisted in her gut, "But she'll think I abandoned her."

Adair lifted her gaze from the garland she was toying with, "This is what troubles you?"

"I just... wouldn't want her to think that I thought so little of her."

With lazy grace Adair uncoiled from the ground and reaching out she casually plucked her spear from the earth. Sunlight glinted off the deadly leaf-shaped blade as she hefted the Gáe Bulg and Ellén felt herself shiver as the creature regarded her cooly with those strange dark eyes, "So like her mother's."

"I see you have a new cloak."

"A... friend gave it to me."

Adair eyed the colourful garment for a moment as she stalked forward before lifting her gaze, "Not the only creature you met this day I think."

Unable to meet her gaze the Dragon cast her eyes downwards and whispered, "No."

With a heavy sigh the dark-eyed woman shook her head, "You should go."

Ellén swallowed, "Tell her... " she sniffed, "tell her something kind."

"Oh, tell her yourself! What am I, some errand girl to be delivering witless missives between a pair of twittering lovebirds?"

"What?!"

Smiling sadly Adair pressed the garland she had made into Ellén's hand and nodded towards the tower, "Cassie will be waiting."

"But, why?"

"She likes flowers."

"No, I mean... why?"

Adair shrugged, "The course of true love never runs smooth they say, but run it does, headlong and recklessly without care. Who am I to stand in its way, and what good would it do to come between you?" she snorted, "Methinks Cassie would not thank me for it."

Eyeing the braided flowers Ellén wondered for a moment at how they could be blooming so in Winter. She heard herself whisper, "Thank you."

Hefting her spear, the woman had turned to go, but she paused, "Oh, be warned, you had best have a care with Cassie."

"I will! I promise, I'll be more careful in futu-"

Adair chuckled mischievously, causing Ellén to pause mid-word, for the peculiar reaction almost made this strange, fearsome woman look almost impishly child-like for a moment. She smiled, "Oh, that's not what I meant, not at all."

"What then?"

"I am not you Ellén. I was made more as a weapon, I think. I do not possess the tender nature of Dragons and I have all the healing skills of a sword. I know no enchantments or spells to ease the pain of others, so to mend Cassie's wounds I was obliged to transfer a little of my own life unto her. It was a thing I had once seen Quintus do to save an injured Dark Elf."

Adair grinned, "I think I may have poured over-generously into such a small vessel. I suspect that for a while at least Cassie's exuberance will be nigh unstoppable," she snorted, "and she will be very enthusiastic to see you methinks."

"Enthusiastic? I don't... oh, OH!"

She blushed.

With another wry shake of her head Adair turned to go and Ellén caught a fleeting glimpse of the lingering hurt in the woman's eyes, and her hand twitched as if she thought to reach out to her, "What will you do?"

"I think I'll just sit here a while."

Ellén nodded and looked up towards the tower across the vale, "She loves you; you know."

"Who, Cassie?"

"Your mother."

The dark-eyed woman turned back to her, her shoulders sagged, and her voice was bitter, "How would I know? I've searched the world for her since she marched off to war and left me in the care of Eber. Yet it is you and Cassie who get to share words with her, but not I, not a word for Adair! And..." her voice almost broke, "I miss her."

Risking who knows what, Ellén stepped closer and wrapping her arms around her she drew the dreadful creature close, and was shaken to feel her trembling, "She loves you Adair, I saw it. She's just frightened."

"Frightened? Her?" she snorted, "That creature wouldn't know fear if it bit her on the arse!"

"She fears you."

"Me? What strength do I possess that she should fear me Ellén?"

The Dragon sighed, "Not strength. I think she fears looking into your eyes and seeing perhaps a reflection of the hurt and betrayal she thinks she's visited on you. She's scared that she has made you hate her. I... I know that look. I've seen it before."

Adair sniffed, "For a while I probably did."

"No less than I with my own mother."

With a sigh Adair lifted her hand and gently pushed herself away from the blonde woman. Looking into Ellén's blue eyes she shook her head sadly, "What a pair we are. Me here upon the ground and you in the air and yet we might as well be twins given our troubles."

Ellén blushed, "Um, about that..."

"Huh?"

"I... think she was jesting, but she made a crack about how she expected me to be making an "honest woman" of Cassie."

Adair froze, staring goggle-eyed and still as stone for a moment before her lips quivered involuntarily. A moment after that the first snigger escaped, and soon thereafter gales of laughter saw the deadly woman helplessly doubled over.

Ellén protested indignantly, "It's not funny!"

In the branches of the trees the crows watched the exchange with their beady dark eyes, and if they had an opinion on such things, they kept their council to themselves.

...

Garrow found herself eyeing the guard after Hildegard left the scullery. She had already devoured her second plate and was mopping up the last of the egg with a piece of toast. The guard in turn watched her as she ate, taking in her wary posture as she sat leaning over the platter, one arm coiled almost protectively around her food as though she thought she'd have to fight to keep it.

She didn't start like a panicked doe at the noises the cook made as he worked but she still watched him as warily as a wolf nonetheless, turning her head just so to keep him in sight if he moved behind her, and he saw her eyes flick instantly to the serving girl when she entered the scullery on an errand, taking in her size and posture, instinctively looking to her hands for a weapon, "Gods, she's almost feral."

He sniffed, immediately her eyes transfixed him, and behind her piercing gaze he could almost hear the wheels turning. Wiping her chin, she pushed away her plate and sat back, "What now?"

"We have a couple of errands to run, Master Gauge will see you this afternoon and doubtless you will be presented before Mistress Aventine at supper, but other than that, the morning is your own. I'm to stay with ye for now."

"As my jailor?"

He grinned, "Let's call it your guide, until you get your bearings at least."

She pursed her lips with a thoughtful frown, "What errands?"

"Well, firstly I'm to take you to the seamstress so she can take your measure."

"Why?"

The man smiled, "Well, if you are to be bodyguard for Lady Hildegard, you'll be needing suitable garb for when she goes about the business of the House."

She grunted, "Then what?"

"The armourers methinks, for more measurements no doubt."

"What for?"

The guardsman chuckled and his face split in a mischievous grin, "Well, if you're going to be bodyguard to Lady Hildegard, you'll be needing, um, other suitable garb for when she goes about the business of the House."

He eyed her, "Ah, Garrow?"

"What?"

"Put back the fork."

She gave him a thoroughly fulminous glare before drawing the implement from her sleeve with a sigh and tossing it to the table.

He shook his head, "Why the fork? 'Tis a piss poor choice of weapon."

She shrugged, "Thought you'd miss the knife, and it's better than naught."

The man nodded in understanding, and in a sly move that denoted either hours of practice, or a thoroughly chequered past, he drew the sgian-dubh from his boot and with a flick sent it thudding into the tabletop in front of her, "Try that."

Turning at the sound, the big cook pointed a ladle at the man, "You mar my kitchen tops boyo, and it'll be you sanding them down Fergus my lad."

Garrow eyed the deadly little blade for a long moment before picking it up. Weighing its balance in her hand she shook her head, "That's the kind of sentimental stupidity that'll get ye killed one day you know."

Fergus shrugged, "Probably, but somehow, I don't think it'll be today, and besides, I might miss the next thing you filch and if I'm going to be killed, I don't want to go explaining to my ancestors it was with a fork, or a fucking candlestick of all things. That would be just ridiculous, and I'd be black affronted."

The Half-Orc couldn't help but laugh, "Yer daft, man."

"So I've been told, many, many times."

"How the fuck have you lived this long."

He grinned, "Just lucky I guess."

"We'll see."

The noonday meal was a hearty stew of meat and potatoes with fresh baked bread and a tankard of light ale, followed by a crumble made from winter fruits and light pastry, and Garrow shook her head in amazement, "You eat like this always?"

Fergus had escorted her to the bustling servant's hall for the meal, but the canny warrior had taken care to sit the wary creature so her back was to a wall, and she had a clear view of the doors. He looked up from his own platter and reaching out refilled her mug from the pitcher on the table, "Aye, for the most part. The staff here is large and the cooks skilled. Mistress Aventine is a stickler that her folk are well fed, and well-treated, but she expects a fair day's toil in exchange."

"She sounds soft."

Fergus choked on his ale and looked up with a grin, "Methinks you might want to hold off on such a hasty presumption until you've met her," he grinned, "I suspect that if you give her cause she might just inspire you to reassess that opinion."

"Not soft then?"

"Fuck, no."

"What's she like then?"

The guardsman considered, "She's a Dark Elf and like as not as cunning and capricious as all her kind. Not cruel as such, though I suspect she could be if vexed enough, but ruthless, very ruthless. She's colder than her sister, and I'd not cross either of them lightly," he shrugged, "that's what I hear anyway, I'm just a guard and don't go hobnobbing with them upstairs too often."

Garrow pondered the man's words as she looked about the room, "They look happy enough, no tears, no bruises, that one flirts with a guard, that one wants to. No one recoils, no one flinches. No overseers, no whips, hmm... Too many folks for it to be simple subterfuge, no-one's heart is racing in deceit, a few furtive stares is all, 'tis passing strange."

She nodded towards a woman sitting off to one side, her face was red and twisted in distress, and the few folk about her were holding her shoulders and looked to be encouraging her to eat.

"What ails that one, was she punished for something?"

The guard sighed, "She received word her son was killed in a raid. He was a spearman for another House. She's been ensconced in her room awhile and those are her friends. They look to console her."

"Friends?"

The man eyed her, "You must know the concept Garrow, you're a Half-Orc, not an alien thing from another realm, even your kind has friends."

She sniffed, "In the arena you learn quickly enough that the closer you let them get, the less distance the knife has to travel."

He sighed, "Well, I can't argue with that I suppose," he shrugged, "but sometimes it's good to have someone to watch yer back."

"I wouldn't know."

He grinned and refilled her tankard, "As ye say..."

The Palaestra of House Varrow was a large chamber lined by carved pillars. It was well lit by witchfire lanterns, and the large, shuttered windows had been thrown open to allow in the air. The walls were lined by racks holding all manner of lethal implement with many spears, axes, swords and shields in an assortment of styles. Garrow saw that many were practice weapons, weighted and blunted, with even a few wooden tools such that a novice or recruit might use, but a few looked lethal enough.

There were wide doors in each of the four walls and her canny eyes peered beyond each. One portal led outside to what looked like a running track and archery range, beyond the other was the gymnasia and she caught glimpses of both men and women exercising on myriad apparatus. The third doorway was ajar, and her vision was obscured, but she could smell the baths even from here.

Towards one end of the palaestra were arrayed a line of sturdy practice figures carved from heavy wood. They bore any number of chips and scars and looked well used. Benches were arrayed along the walls, and she could see how the place would be used for demonstration matches or training.

The two people who awaited her were as different as chalk and cheese. One was a Half-Orc like her, but it was obvious that it was his Orcish blood that ran true for he had a wolfish look about him, with long hair tied in a warrior's braid and the gleaming eyes of a hunter. He wore a loose tunic, his bare arms were corded with muscle, and it was obvious to Garrow from his build that the rest of him followed suit, yet for all his bulk he moved with the balance and grace of a dancer.

The man eyed her cooly with those gleaming eyes. She could all but see inside his head as he assessed her size and reach, and his lips thinned as he took in her gaunt form. She gritted her teeth, "Don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him..."

Raising his eyes to hers he gave a snort and grinned, "Prick!"

The woman was a Dark Elf, typically slight of build, with long silver hair tied back from her face. She smiled brightly, but her eyes were unreadable. Dressed in dark garb she lounged on a bench looking like a bored cat and Garrow sniffed, "She reeks of oil, doubtless wearing light mail under that crap, and look at all those throwing knives. She's an assassin if ever I saw one, and ye'd think she'd be less of a show off given her calling."

Fergus moved forward and made to speak but the big man held up his hand to still him. "I am Gauge, Master of Arms for House Varrow, yonder is Lady Schrade, a Swordmistress."

"What's the difference?"

The man shrugged, "I train folks, she kills them."

The woman said nothing at the description, but her smile brightened.

"Fair enough."

The man sniffed, "I'm told Lady Hildegard has selected you as her protector, mayhap not the choice I'd make, but needs must. My task is to see if you are fit for the roll," he made an offhand gesture towards her, "strip."

Garrow snarled and widened her stance slightly, "Eat shit! The woman said I'd not need to pander to the likes of you. If you want my clothes, then come and take them, jackass!"

The woman lounging on the bench sat up, her smile unchanged, but clearly as curious as she was entertained.

Gauge sighed and shook his head, "My fault, I suppose."

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Tis not like that. You've been in the arena pits for weeks, fought in any number of bouts and no doubt seen hard use and other abuses in between matches. I need to see if you have any wounds or the like that might have healed badly in that time. To do that I need to see how you move, how you breath. I need to see if any muscles are damaged or have been weakened by your time there. Keep your loin cloth on if it please you."

Garrow sniffed, "Don't have one."

Fergus interjected, "Ah, Master Gauge, the rags she was wearing from the arena were flea infested and rightly burned. What she wears now is loaned stuff. She's been to see the seamstress and we'll doubtless rectify the deficiencies in her wardrobe soon enough, but until then, she's a wee bit, um... disadvantaged as far as clothing goes."

Garrow blew out an exasperated breath, "Fuck it! You can have yer show if you must, but you best be keeping your bloody hands to yourself, or it's your manhood I'll be wearing as a lucky charm."

Fergus winced but the Master of Arms simply grinned, "I'll need to run my hands over yer ribs as you breath deep, and look at your teeth and scalp, but other than that my examination can be restricted to observing you move. Fair enough?"

As she kicked off her sandals and started to unhitch her trous the guardsman interrupted, "I can leave if ye like."

"You stay right there! I don't trust these two fuckers as far as I can throw them."

The Dark Elf spoke for the first time, her voice musical and soft, "But you trust him?"

"He gave me a knife; I'll take the chance."

Schrade eyed the man and shook her head, "Well, that was daft."

Garrow snorted, "That's what I said."

As she carelessly stripped off the last of her clothes, she paused a moment and turned to Fergus with a grin, "What are you gawpin at wee man, not seen a naked lass before?"

The man shook his head and blinked, "Well, um... I hadn't realised you were quite soo, ah... tall."

On the bench the Dark Elf rolled her eyes.

For the next while Gauge had her run about, stretch, swing her arms and even balance on one leg for a spell, and true to his word the man kept his hands to himself, except when feeling her ribs and once when he stopped her stretching to run a careful hand along a scar that ran down the muscles of her lower leg. After a moment he grunted, "Looks like ye tore a calf-muscle, it's healed but it's tightened up. You'll need to be massaged and oiled to stretch it back out."