The Tattooed Woman Pt. 36

With darkness closing in around her, Sura's voice was little more than an agonised whisper, "F-fuck... you."

The woman was still laughing when Sura passed out.

The long, hard decades of training that followed were brutal and demanding, even by Drow standards. Arcana, bladework, intrigue, poisons, sleight of hand, stealth and all the various techniques of their nefarious business was drummed and drilled into her through wickedly hard tutelage. Failure or weakness of will was not tolerated, and the slightest infraction ruthlessly punished. Pain became a mentor and friendly ally, for you had to be alive to feel pain, and only the dead knew peace, and sometimes, with sufficient necromancy, not even then.

Eventually, she ascended first from neophyte to apprentice, and then finally to Shadowsister. The tiny handful of those who graduated alongside her, all that survived from the ruthlessly winnowed ranks of her classmates and competitors.

Her first professional kill was the woman who recruited her.

The perpetual internecine warfare among the Drow clans meant there was always a demand for a well-trained assassin and eventually she was sold by the guild to a Mistress with a particular need for a skilled blade and coin enough to afford the best.

For a decade and more she did as she was bid, cutting throats, poisoning, provoking one-sided duels or stabbing in the dark, all upon command, without comment or argument.

Then, one night, her patron came to her, typically with a job. What was not typical was the look of fear in the woman's eyes. She fumbled at the locks of the chamber door where Sura was kept, though why she bothered with such childish gestures was beyond the assassin, for she had learned to pick the locks years hence.

Swallowing hard, she looked down at the deadly creature before her, "Sura, I have a task for thee."

Setting aside the scroll she was studying, the assassin unfolded from her kneeling position on the stone floor. The woman had her bodyguards with her as always, two powerful Fir Bolg warriors encased in armour and each carrying a wickedly sharp glaive. Sura silently rose, and almost by habit calculated how many ways she could kill her mistress and dispose of the guards before a warning shout could be raised, "Hmm, only seventeen this day. The guards are indeed warier than usual."

Her eyes flicked back to her Mistress, "Who's the mark?"

"A brutal creature. She stalks me and mine, and already more than a few of my kin are no more. She tasks me Sura, and I would be done with her."

"Her name?"

"Dullahan."

Sura stared at her owner, noting her stance, disposition, breathing, the blinking of her eyes, the perspiration on her forehead and the smell of spice and fear that emanated from her, "You seem unduly vexed Mistress, is there something about this Dullahan I should know?"

"Only that you would not be the first to set your sights upon her. By all accounts few have even drawn close, none have survived, and she draws breath still."

Sura gave the woman a strange smile, "She sounds... intriguing. How have you drawn her ire?"

"That need not concern you slave!"

"As you say."

The Mistress looked about as if peering into the shadows and corners of the room before licking her lips in fear, "Sura, you have provided me with good service. And I have not treated you... unkindly, have I?"

"Your treatment has been correct, Mistress."

"Then do this thing for me. Do it and I shall consider your guild-debt and indenture paid in full. You'll be free."

"I owe another three decades of service at least."

"Three and a half but do this and we're done. The outstanding monies owed for the price I paid the guild will be written off and the contract deemed fulfilled. You'll be free."

Sura blinked, unsure of herself for the first time in years, "My services will... no longer be required?"

The Mistress smiled, "No, Sura, your services will always be required, but you will be free to negotiate fair pay for your work and be free to accept or refuse a commission as is your want."

"Very well."

Gathering her blades, instruments and tools, Sura silently left the chamber and went to work.

The hunt for Dullahan was utterly infuriating! It was not as if the woman was hard to find, she was right there! She moved about her hunting packs, attending flesh pots and taverns, drank her fill, and cavorted with courtesans. But each time the assassin drew close it was like she was cursed. Always! Always there would be someone in the way, or Dullahan would have angled her body just so, carelessly spoiling each potential shot with a grin and a smile. She ignored the poisoned chalices or casually slipped aside from the envenomed traps Sura set for her. Sura even dressed herself in the revealing outfit of a houri to try and draw close to her mark, but the woman simply smiled and traced a gentle finger across her cheek as she passed her before selecting another girl from the Madam's selection and leaving the bordello without a backward glance. Utterly aggravating!

It was as if the creature was playing with her.

Finally, after weeks of fruitless effort Sura had enough! One night she slid through the dark with blade in hand and by cunning artifice and false scents she silently bypassed the many hounds prowling the encampment before slipping past the guards, and like a wraith she skulked into the woman's tent.

There in the darkened pavilion Dullahan lay asleep in her bower, covered by warm furs and breathing softly. In utter silence Sura slipped to the floor and like a hunting spider she crawled forward. As she reached the bed her mark murmured a quiet sigh and turned in her sleep. Sura froze, unmoving, barely breathing, as she eyed her target, ready to make a lunge if the woman stirred further.

The low flame of the lone witchlamp cast its magical light upon the womans face and Sura paused for the briefest moment as she took in her features, the delicately arched brows, tousled silver hair, and sensuous lips curled in a slight sardonic smile, "Well, she's pretty enough."

Ignoring such distracting whimsy, Sura raised her blade only to freeze as she felt the cold steel of a razor-sharp stiletto touching her thigh, just above the femoral artery. The woman's eyes flicked open and her grin widened, "Took you long enough."

Her voice was melodic, almost sultry and if there was fear in her eyes or unsteadiness in her hand Sura could not see or feel the slightest trace of it.

"You must be Sura; I've heard of you."

The assassin said nothing.

Graceful as a cat Dullahan rose from her blankets, the point of her knife never leaving its target. She smiled broadly, "You looked good in that bordello. The houri's silks were most becoming."

Sura blinked, "You noticed."

"Well, I'm not blind, how could I not?"

"You still left with another girl."

"To be fair, you were trying to kill me, so I thought it regrettably prudent."

"A missed opportunity."

Dullahan gave her a mischievous grin, "Not necessarily, I can always buy you more silks."

"Might be difficult getting undressed with you holding me at knifepoint."

"Oh? Well, 'tis a quandary most easily resolved I say."

"How so?"

"Let us both put up our blades for the night, and in the morning, if you still have a mind to murder me then after a little breakfast, you can take your poisoned blade, and I shall take mine, and we shall go outside and try to kill each other like civilised Drow."

"So, we just... trust each other?"

"Oh, hardly! But let us see who blinks first. Does the prospect not set your heart to racing? It does mine."

Sura couldn't help but grin at the madwoman's carefree cheerfulness, "If pressed I might confess to a slight frisson of excitement I suppose."

"Only slight? I must do better. Come, put up your blade and I will do my utmost to rectify this lamentable deficiency."

"As you will."

Both women stared at each other, unblinking, for what might have been moments, or an eternity, but suddenly, as if on some unspoken signal there was a flicker of movement and the blades disappeared.

Sura swallowed, feeling somehow strangely vulnerable as she took in the woman's lithe form, naked under the sleeping furs, "Um, now what?"

Dullahan fetched her a most predatory look and grinned hungrily as she reached out to her, "Now, come here."

Morning found them both coiled about each other in the devastation their furious lovemaking had inflicted upon the bedspread.

Sura awoke, utterly sated, muscles aching wonderfully, her breasts, back and thighs covered in bite and scratchmarks, and she could not stifle her giggle as she took in the no less dishevelled and tousled state of her bedmate.

"This is most unprofessional."

Dullahan stretched, it was a marvellous sight, "True. But you can still kill me after breakfast if you like."

"That depends, what's for breakfast?"

Reaching for the woman, Dullahan smiled, "You."

It was closer to noon when Sura slumped back in the furs, panting, exhausted and covered in a sheen of sweat, "I don't think I have strength to fight now."

Dullahan lay on her front carefully watching her new plaything, "Oh? Well, maybe after supper then, if you fancy."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Oh yes, tomorrow would be so much better."

It was closer to three days before Sura staggered from the tent, "W-we have... to stop. I-I need to... to."

Dullahan sauntered past, and Sura's eyes could not help but follow the alluring sway of her hips, "To kill me?"

"Y-yes... I mean..."

"Is that what you want?"

"Y-yes?"

"You do not sound overly certain."

"It's not that simple, the guild?"

"Oh, I had one of my men pay them off yesterday. As far as they're concerned your obligation is fulfilled. Now all you have to do is decide who you want to follow. Me, or her?"

"What?"

Moving close, Dullahan gave her another wild smile and pushed a knife into her hands, "It's simple. A woman cannot faithfully serve two Mistresses. So, either draw steel and fight, or go cut her head off and bring it back to me. Either way, you're free. The choice is entirely yours."

"I-if I come back. Must I serve you."

"Only for as long as you want. Tell me, how did she master you?"

Sura looked away, "Traditionally."

"So, by rod and lash, chain and whip. I used nothing more discomforting than a kiss."

Biting her lip the assassin mumbled, "They say a kiss is the strongest magic of all."

"Ah, "True Love's Kiss?" A human sentiment I think, for they are a pathetically soft and witless people. No, the only magic I used was to see your worth. Join me, be my companion, as free or as fettered as you like," her smile vanished and her voice flattened, "or go back to her."

"No middle ground?"

"We are Drow."

Two days later Sura stuck the head of her former Mistress on a pike and left it for all to see outside the tent.

Within, Dullahan met her with her brilliantly feral smile and a goblet of dark wine, "Welcome home, Sura."

For the next century and a half, they hunted and killed together, raiding Dark Elven and human lands alike. Theirs was a tempestuous relationship, and like all lovers they sometimes quarrelled, sometimes fought, sometimes throwing barbs and insults, sometimes knives, and sometimes they even parted, a year here, two years there, but sooner or later Dullahan knew her Drow assassin would always come back to her.

And she always did.

...

It was the manic cawing of ravens that drew Sura back from the cold nightmare of darkness that wrapped around her like a shroud, and despite the massive weight on her chest, she doggedly struggled back to consciousness. She knew in her heart that her lover was gone, not even wily Dullahan could survive a Dragon. But if the alternatives were to open her wrists and join her, or make the world pay; then she would make them fucking pay!

Opening her eyes, the sight before her instantly banished the cobwebs from her mind. There, by the standing stones, bound, gagged, but very much alive, lay Dullahan! And crouched above her, like some mad predatory thing, from a nightmare best forgotten, was a dark form, with eyes of brilliant red, and clawed hands with fingers tipped by long razor-sharp talons that reached out as if to brush the bound woman's hair, or perhaps peel her skin.

Sura drew a breath, "No!"

Slowly, the thing turned its head and let the full weight of its dread gaze fall upon her, "No?"

Swallowing, Sura licked her lips and made the only bargain she could think of, "Me for her! Just... don't hurt her."

Dullahan made a noise of protest and reached for the thing, only for her grasping hand to be almost playfully slapped away.

The creature tilted its head in a strangely bird-like motion, and grinned, "Such sentiment, and from a Drow no less. You were not made thus you know."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Don't."

The thing moved closer, flowing across the ground like shadow, to crouch before her, unblinking eyes regarding her intently, "Why not?"

"Because I..."

"You have feelings for her?"

Lost for words, Sura could only nod.

The creature stood, and in that movement, its form seemed to subtly alter. Now, it was tall, with skin as white as snow, long hair as black as a raven's wing flowing down its back and a haughty, even regal look to its mien, "Interesting. This is not how I made you, not at all."

"Made me?"

"Do you not know me, Sura? Did we not walk together in your dreams as a child?"

Sura looked up and meeting the thing's gaze she knew!

Drawing a terrified shuddering breath, she all but whimpered, "You're the Demon Queen!"

"Not a name I've heard in a while," she grinned, "but I confess, the reaction was all I hoped it would be."

"You can't, I mean it's not... real?"

"So I keep hearing."

Moving away, the creature sat upon a rock and regarded them both. Dullahan made muffled noises through her gag and the thing gestured, "Mayhap you might want to do something about that?"

Not entirely sure what the entity meant; Sura settled for cutting the woman free. The creature watched with interest, burning red eyes flicking between the two.

Dullahan picked up one of her knives from the pile her captor had left just out of reach and held it at the ready, "You know this... thing?"

Nemain smiled.

Sura licked her lips again, "Um, when I went to temple, they told stories. Stories of the Demon Queen. The one who stole Dark Elven bairns from their cribs and made them into Drow... I... I think that's her."

Dullahan stared, "What?"

...

Chulainn stepped past the two unconscious Dark Elves and over the body of the wounded Half-Orc. The magic of that miserable bloody portal that he had all but been cast through left him feeling distinctly queasy and he had a pounding headache. He was in a foul mood and, needless to say, the efforts of the Dark Elves and their hulking sellsword companion to prohibit his entry to the tavern had not been appreciated.

He hoped it was a tavern anyway. The shingle depicted a raven at nest, and it had the look of such, and after a lifetime of wandering he fancied himself a fair judge of drinking establishments for he had certainly spent enough time in them.

He cast a wary glance at his surroundings. It was a city for sure, he had seen many on his travels. But this was different to the earthen ringforts of the north and the stone keeps of the southern lands. No, this was closer to the citadels of the Empire, with its shaped marble pillars and its roads.

He sniffed; you could tell a lot about a place by its roads. In the lands of the Old Empire, they ran straight and true, well maintained and wide enough for two carts to pass side by side. They were built for conquest as much as travel, ideal for marching legions and the other paraphernalia of military might.

In the wildlands of the north the roads, such as there was, were made from trampled earth, and wound along glen and valley between remote settlements. They were purely for trade and to serve farmers taking livestock to market. Some, those nearest larger towns, might be cobbled, but most were little more than ancient tracks that had evolved into roadways through centuries of use.

Of course, in the windswept islands beyond Scotia there were no roads, for everyone travelled by boat. Somehow, he liked that better.

But here, the roads were crafted from smooth stone, made so by some eldritch means no doubt. The lamps, of which he could see quite a few, appeared to burn with some sorcerous fire, and the place was filled to the brim with bloody Dark Elves. He had met the fair folk a few times on his travels, but they had been of a very different ilk, with their golden hair and bright features. These folk had that same unearthly quality, what with their slight builds, dark eyes, silver hair and those strangely pointed ears, but of the only two Dökkálfar he had met before now, one had immediately tried to kill him, and the other had been unconscious.

So far, he had been here for less than five minutes and already two of the homicidally inclined faeries had set about him for no apparent reason and, from the looks some of the others were casting in his direction, it seemed unlikely they would be the last.

With a sigh, he shook his head and walked into the tavern, "If this is a sign of things to come, I'm definitely going to need a drink."

Within, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the taverns among the Fae looked little different from many he was used to. There was a large common room with several tables and benches of sturdy wood. It was dimly lit by a few of those strange, magically burning lamps, but warmed by a genuine fire that burned brightly in the hearth.

A blonde wench of quite remarkable beauty was cleaning tables while a Dark Elven lass worked behind the bar, carelessly cleaning tankards. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment and frowned.

A snigger from nearby caught his attention and he looked to see some urchin, dressed in rags, with a wild mop of dishevelled hair sitting on a stool watching him intently. Her eyes were bright and full of mischief. Before her, on the table, were a number of acorns and she had been busily playing some game by balancing one upon the other, but she had paused in her labours to cast her eyes over him. As he stared, he found himself blinking in surprise as a mouse clambered onto the table and dropped another acorn into the girl's small collection before scampering off. She grinned at his boggled expression and turned back to her game.

"You should leave."

He looked round at the voice to see the blonde wench eyeing him. He almost whistled as he took her in. Gods she was stunning! With eyes of sparkling blue, a flawless complexion and long hair as fine and fair as any he had ever seen.

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed, "I said you should go, 'tis unsafe for you here. You might be best served finding some other place to whet your whistle."

The old warrior hooked a thumb back at the door, "I beg forgiveness if I've drawn trouble to your door good lady, but for what it's worth I didn't kill those folk outside. They might have a few bruises, mayhap a broken bone or two, but they're not dead."

She blinked, "What?"

"What?"

At the nearby table the urchin giggled.

Ignoring her, the woman shook her head, "I've no idea what you're prattling about, human, but whatever it is I don't care. There might be... trouble coming here, and it would be safer for you if you made yourself scarce."

Chulainn looked back and forth between the two women, "Here now, I'm not the kind of man who would leave a pair of wenches to fend for themselves if trouble was brewing. Is it an angry suitor or the like thinking to force his unwanted attentions upon ye? If so, I'm more than capable of fetching the lout a good thump if that's what's needed."