The Tattooed Woman Pt. 38

"Really?"

Valair grinned, "No."

***

"Put me down! You great big painted ox!"

Adair kept marching, and if Varoona's weight was any inconvenience at all, she showed little sign of it.

The Dark Elf had raced through the night to catch up to the tall woman, whose untiring long-legged stride was eating the distance back to the column with surprising speed.

Throwing herself in front of her, the panting Dark Elf held up her hands, "Wait! Just wai-"

Without a word, Adair stepped around her and resumed her march, and the look of focused anger on her face did not bode well at all.

"Fuck..."

Varoona tried grabbing the woman, only to be dragged several yards before Adair shook her loose with a casual flick of her wrist that left her sprawled in the dirt.

"Oh, for the love of..."

Picking herself up, she ran forward and again planted herself in the woman's path. Adair shifted to go around, only for Varoona to dance in front of her. Moving to the other side, she took another pace, and again, the Dark Elf moved to interpose herself, "Look, wait! Just list-"

"Step aside."

"Look, the Captain says she'll get her ba-"

"Varoona, move."

"No, I can't. Wait, just liste- oh shiiit!"

Adair gave a snort of exasperation, "Fine."

Stepping forward, she grabbed the Dark Elf by the front of her mail, lifting her bodily from the ground before turning and setting her down to one side. Her path cleared, she resumed her march and strode off.

Varoona stared after her, "That's just taking the piss."

Shaking her head in annoyance she charged forward and again ran in front of the marching leviathan.

This time, at least, the woman seemed to at least take notice, stopping to regard the Dark Elf, "You're not going to leave off, are you? Not unless I hurt you."

"Well, I'd really rather you didn't. I mean, I quite like my limbs as they are, you know... attached."

For just an instant, one corner of Adair's mouth might, just might, have quivered. She looked about, "Breaking your leg would be sufficient, but..." her eyes returned to the young Dark Elf, "There may be Drow about, and I'm reluctant to leave you here helpless. Will you not just let me pass?"

"Oh, now you know I can't Adair. I want to get her back as much as y- Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Adair stepped forward and, taking hold of the Dark Elf, casually tossed her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes before once again resuming her march.

Varoona struggled, kicked her feet, thumped the woman's back and wriggled like a cat to get free. It was fruitless, for the strength of Adair's arm was unbreakable, and her grip was like iron. The Dark Elf considered "More than one way to skin a cat."

"You're hurting me."

The woman's grip immediately eased, and Varoona grinned.

Slithering like an eel, she wrapped an arm about Adair's neck and pulled herself up. Grabbing the woman's chin, she tried pulling her head round, "Hey!"

Adair turned to regard her.

Darting forward, Varoon planted a kiss full on her lips.

Adair dropped her like she was on fire and stepped back, eyes wide, "What the fu-"

"Ha! You should see your face!"

"That was a base trick, Varoona."

The Dark Elf sniffed, "All is fair in love and war. Besides," she grinned, "who said it was a trick."

"What?"

"Look, just give me a moment, please, Adair. Give me a chance, and if you still want to go, then, as your friend, I promise I'll get out of the way. Hell, I'll even go with you."

The woman considered and then grounded the butt of her spear, "Fine, say your piece."

***

Muriah sighed, "I'm the youngest daughter. You know how it goes; the eldest inherits, the next takes a commission in the military or forms a Company, the next looks after the business of the House, while the next youngest turns to magic or the temple, and so on. In each case, the prestige and worth of the daughters lessens in step.

"Well, my mother has seven daughters, and I am the youngest. Of little worth and hardly much of a marriage prospect being so removed from any worthwhile inheritance or dowry. And my sisters, one and all, were utter bitches more intent on clawing at one another and jostling for favour than attempting to improve the lot or reputation of our House. I would not play such games, and so they despised me all the more, and not to be outdone, I hated them right back."

She looked away as the mists rolled back, and the memories stood revealed once more, "In our House, it was poor form to associate with the slaves and servants who tended to our wants. My mother said it was beneath our station to pay them any attention and might give them dangerous ideas. Now there was a maid in our household who tended to my chamber, my bath, my wardrobe, and such things. Her name was Muiriell, it means "Bright Sea". She was a Human girl, and she was pretty and funny, and she could make me laugh regardless of whatever cruel jest or petty spite had been done that day. Often, she would brighten my day or lighten my mood.

"I, of course, was young, stupid, and lonely, and so, despite all wisdom to the contrary, we became friends, and then perhaps more than friends.

"Predictably, Caspia discovered our little tryst. She had me beg her, on my bended knees, not to reveal the secret, and because I was a trusting idiot, I did exactly that, whereupon she laughed in my face and turned informant anyway, despite my pleading. I remember being called to the great hall where the Matriarch, my mother, rebuked me before all my sisters, accusing me of indulging in base sentiment with an unworthy creature; those were her words, "unworthy".

"I was commanded to prove myself by whipping Muiriell and told that if I spoke so much as a single word to her, showed her the slightest mercy, then each of my sisters would take up a lash and finish the task. I knew what mercy she could expect from the likes of Caspia and Brone, so I did as commanded. I still remember the look of betrayal on her face as I beat her."

Valair produced needle and thread from her sash, "This will hurt; keep talking. Did she hate you for it?"

Muriah shrugged, "I know not. My mother had her sold that very day, and I never saw her again."

"You never looked for her?"

"No, all I could bring that girl was hurt and misery. At the least, my mother would have had her killed if I showed such defiance."

The swordswoman worked steadily, and her fingers were strong and nimble, but the pain still made Muriah groan. Watching her struggles, Valair attempted distraction, "So, I take it you got your own back, and this is the source of Caspia's rage?"

"Y-yes, oh shit, that hurts..."

"Keep talking. What did you do?"

"Sh-she was first daughter of a Great House, a fine catch, while House Vane had a male, a handsome lad, of pure Dark Elven ancestry."

"That's a rare thing."

"Aye, so a mating contract was made. They would marry, he would give her a child, and then they would divorce. A typical arrangement."

"Aye."

"Well, I seduced him. I sought out a witchwoman and purchased a potion. I tracked him down at his stagly revels on the eve of the wedding, and I spiked his drink. The potion blinded him to all consequences, and we had ourselves a night of debauchery," she chuckled, "in truth, he wasn't bad company all told."

"What happened; did the wedding get called off?"

"No, but I wish it had. He was still half intoxicated by the potion, and it was my name, he cried out as he and Caspia lay together on the wedding bed. And Caspia being Caspia, she fell into an uncontrolled rage and stabbed him to death."

"Oh. I recall. I was but second sword then, and I had to wound at least three members of House Vane in formal duels in the aftermath. Quite a hullabaloo all told."

"Aye, it near led to war. Our House had to pay weregilt for the lad's murder, and a hefty price it was, or so I was told. We claimed he had insulted her and offered her rough treatment, but it was all face-saving and dissimulation."

"I take it there was a price to pay?"

"Ohh yes, there was a price to pay. Mother said that as I wanted to play the whore then that's what I would be. She set me to training as courtesan and spy and thereafter sold me to all and sundry so that I might use my 'considerable talents', as she put it, to weasel secrets and deals for the advantage of our House."

Valair studied her, "It could have been worse. You still had the trappings and luxury that came with being a daughter of a Great House. I know of other Matriarchs who would have had you flayed for such behaviour."

"Lucky me," she groaned as another stitch was pulled tight, "Cousin?"

"Aye?"

"Why are you helping me?"

The swordswoman shook her head, "I'm not. I'm making sure you are fit to travel is all. Once this scheme with Ashunara is done, you will be taken home for questioning."

"Torture, you mean?"

"'Tis likely," she sighed, "Muriah, I have no love of cruelty but do not trick yourself into thinking we are friends. I do this for practical reasons, and while I think your sisters are idiots of the first order, they are not wrong in saying that there is evidence suggesting you are indeed a traitor to our House. That raises questions, and those questions must be answered."

"Do you think me traitor?"

The swordswoman paused and eyed the bound woman intently before answering, "I think you are a bitter young woman who has likely seen poor treatment by her kin. You clearly seek to remove yourself from House Fel; that much is obvious, but traitor? I'm not so sure."

Muriah sighed, "You're an idiot."

Surprised, Valair gave a snort of laughter, "Here am I trying to bind your wounds and give you what little comfort I can, and you respond with an insult. Truly Muriah, I think the rumours regarding your intemperate foolishness might not be all exaggeration after all."

"That's not it. Do you not realise Caspia and Brone plot your murder and camouflage their conspiracy behind a scheme aimed at Ashunara?"

The needle paused, "Explain."

Muriah leaned her head wearily against the tentpole, "Do you really think this Warmaiden, this Tara of House Tyr, will take action against the second daughter of a Great House over a petty duel without blood being spilt? She will, at worst, rebuke her with a few carefully chosen words and suggest she remove herself from the column. Something Ashunara would be completely delighted to do.

"No, without a life being taken, there would be no punitive action. I will be returned to Ashunara, and unless she is as blind as a bat or as naive as a nun, this Tara of House Tyr will see right through Caspia's provocations."

Valair frowned, "But..."

"Cousin, they expect Ashunara to kill you! Indeed, they are counting on it," she moaned, "obviously Caspia is making a play to become Matriarch."

"What?!"

Muriah sighed in exasperation, "If the Matriarch dies or is removed - same thing really, then as eldest daughter Caspia inherits. The only person who could contest the change would be the Matriarch's younger sister."

Valair frowned, "My mother."

"Yes! And you are her First Sword. Your removal, especially at the hands of House Varro, would significantly weaken your mother's position. That is what is happening here! It has fuck-all to do with me! Except perchance as a happy distraction for Caspia."

"I am First Sword. I've seen Ashunara fight; she's good, but not that good."

"And if this were a formal duel to first blood, I would happily give you the match five times in six. But I've seen her fight as well. I tell you, cousin, she's a killer, through and through, as ruthless and cold-hearted as they come. You cross swords with her in a death match, and she'll end you."

"Perhaps you underestimate my skill, cousin,"

"Perhaps you underestimate hers."

"Muriah, you are a suspected traitor facing harsh treatment. It is to your advantage to spin such tales."

"Cousin, I tell you true, she'll fucking kill you."

Valair eyed the woman thoughtfully for a long moment, and then to Muriah's amazement, she smiled and shrugged, "Well, regardless, I am a creature of duty; what else can I do but fight for my House."

Muriah groaned, "Shite..."

As Valair stood and turned to go, Muriah roused again, "Cousin?"

The woman looked back, "Cousin?"

"Thank you."

***

Agrath Steelsword was a Half-Orc, tall and broad, grizzled veteran of more than a few skirmishes and a Captain of the guard of House Fel. His mail was thick, his sword and axe sharp and well-used, and he had proven his strength with both more than once. Which was why he was less than afraid as his rounds were interrupted by a small Dark Elven woman stepping into his path.

His eyes narrowed, "Who the fuck are you?"

Unperturbed by his growl, she smiled brightly, "Oh, I'm Varoona, but 'tis her I would be more concerned about."

He turned, and a fist like a mallet slammed against the side of his head, crumpling his helm and laying him out cold.

"Bloody Hell, Adair. Did you have to strike him so hard? I thought his damned head was going to come off."

"I'm vexed."

The Dark Elf chuckled mischievously, "It was just a kiss."

"It wasn't funny."

Ashunara slid silently from the mist and gloom, whispering urgently as she drew close, "Will you two idiots keep your voices down."

Nyx and others emerged from the dark, and the Captain looked to her, "Guards?"

The veteran grinned and slipped the brass knuckles back off her hand, "Indisposed". Eyeing the way Elsadore was hefting a wicked cudgel, she added, "quite thoroughly indisposed, I fancy, but I had them dosed with sleeping powders just in case. They'll not rouse anytime soon."

"Right, let's do this."

As the Dark Elves slid by, Lashelle gave Varoona a wink, "Sounded pretty funny to me."

Following in their wake, Adair shook her head, muttering sulphurously.

***

Ky was a slave girl and had been for as long as she could remember. She was hungry, which she was used to, and afraid, which was another familiar sensation. Usually, she hid herself away and avoided drawing attention to herself as much as she was able, but now she licked her lips and tightly clutched the chalice of fruit in her hands as she looked at the fallen Dark Elf from her corner of the shadows.

She'd been beaten and whipped many a time over the years of bondage, but the woman lying bound and crumpled at the base of the tentpole had been thrashed worse than she'd ever been. The tent looked empty of her Mistresses, and only a pair of guards stood vigil. They usually paid scant attention to slaves, so biting her lip, she edged forward, moving closer to the beaten woman.

"M-mistress?"

One of the guards turned to watch, and his gaze was cold enough to make her shiver, but he made no move to shoo her away. She swallowed and tried again, "Mistress?"

The Dark Elf stirred and slowly lifted her head.

"M-mistress... I have fruit. I'm not allowed to eat it, but maybe they wouldn't miss a piece or two?"

Seeing how the woman's hands were bound, she moved closer still nervously. Her breath caught, and she froze in fear when the guard shifted position, but he remained silent and thankfully seemed content to merely watch.

Looking about fearfully, she swiftly peeled an orange and tore it into segments with deft little fingers, "Here, let me help you."

Slipping the fragment into the woman's mouth, she watched as the Dark Elf chewed mechanically at first and then with slightly more relish as she savoured the sweet juice. Her blood-caked lips parted in a sigh, "Ohh, that's good."

Ky held out a second segment, "Another piece, Mistress?"

"Please."

Muriah eyed the little slave as another segment was pushed between her lips. Her throat was parched from screaming, her mouth caked with bile and dried blood, and she doubted she had ever, in all her life, tasted anything so fine as that sweet piece of fruit just then.

"You're a half-elf?"

The girl snorted, "Hardly, Mistress, mayhap a tenth at most. My ma said I was more pixie than Elf when she thought I'd got ideas above my station."

"I don't know you, what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm just a scullery maid, Mistress, nobody really, they call me Ky."

There was a snort, "Another scullery maid? Why am I not surprised."

The girl plucked a grape and fed it to her, grinning, "You know many scullery maids then, do you?"

"I know one."

"Truly?"

Muriah stifled a groan as she pulled herself up to her knees, propping her battered body against the pole and eyeing the tiny ragamuffin, "Looks a wee bit like you as well. Though not so pretty."

The girl blushed, "Oh, now you're just teasing me, Mistress. Everyone knows I'm just a scrap of a girl. Too skinny and shapeless to even keep my skirts aloft without a string to hold them up."

Muriah shook her head and whispered, "'Slender..."

"Beg pardon, Mistress."

"Oh, nothing."

The tent flap lifted, and a voice spoke, "Have a care there, Ky; she's a tricksy one, I'm told."

Leaping to her feet, the girl bowed her head, voice trembling, "Y-yes, Mistress, sorry, Mistress, I... I just..."

Valair moved into view and eyed both slave and fruit bowl, "Worry not, girl, you've not done any harm, just..." she sighed wearily, "don't get too attached..."

"Thank you, Mistress, I'll go attend my duti-"

A harsher voice spoke, "Attached? What mischief have you been up to, slave? Must I fetch my switch?"

Brone strode into the tent and grabbed the girl by her ear, twisting it cruelly enough that she squeaked in pain and fear. Caspia skulked into view behind her and looked about suspiciously, "What goes on here?"

"There is nothing amiss. She was just giving the prisoner a little fruit for sustenance. I gave her leave to do so."

Brone fetched the girl a hard slap that sent her sprawling and the fruit bowl flying, "Is that so? And who was it gave you leave to linger here in the first place, slave? Have you no work?"

Muriah pulled herself up; her voice was cracked, but the tone of contempt was unmistakable, "Oh, what brave, brave women you are, truly courageous."

Caspia's kick thudded into her stomach, and she doubled over, coughing, "Quiet, slut, or mayhap you hunger for another taste of my whip?"

Brone shifted her grip to Ky's hair as she slapped her again, "I asked you a question, slave?"

"Don't."

"Oh, do not get sentimental, cousin. She's just a slave; a beating now and then does them good."

Valair shifted her stance just slightly, her hand moving perilously close to the pommel of her sword, and her voice hardened, "I said, don't. I'll not repeat myself again."

Brone looked to the First Sword and, seeing the cold anger in those icy grey eyes, decided against further provocation. Shoving the slave away from her, she snorted, "What's got into you, cousin? Is this little thing a favourite of yours, perchance? If so, I question your taste. Would you not prefer something a little more full-grown?"

"My tastes are none of your concern, sot, but I said I gave her leave, and I'll be damned if I let a fat poltroon like you make a liar of me. Touch her again, and you'll be wiping your arse with your other hand from then on, I assure you."

"What? You'd draw steel on me over such a trifle? What the Hell is wrong with y-"

If Brone had some further indictment or complaint to make, her words were lost as the flying Half-Orc slammed into her like a battering ram, lifting her from her feet and catapulting footman and Dark Elf alike clean across the tent to crash into an arming bench in a groaning tangle of limbs.

Ashunara stalked in, eyeing the tableaux intently. Nyx, Adair, and others of her Company followed. Behind her, Elsadore finished strangling the other Half-Orc and unceremoniously dropped his unconscious body to the floor. He was considerably larger than even her, but the stealthy punch she'd brutally hammered into his kidneys from behind had robbed him of strength, dropping him to his knees with a breathless groan, making him easy prey. She loosed her garotte and sniffed, "Bide there."