The Tattooed Woman Pt. 39

The manse itself had stood for long, long years. Raised by arcane arts, it had well resisted the passage of time. Its echoing halls and carved pillars were as inviolate now as when they had first been crafted. It had endured for millennia, and unless some dire and unforeseen calamity fell upon it, it would endure for millennia more.

Cassie stared at the mighty double doors before her. They stood tall enough for a giant to pass through, and the likeness of a unicorn, rearing and unfettered, had been carved into each. To either side stood a tall, half-orcish sentinel clad in the mail and livery of House Varro. Their spearpoints gleamed and bore falchions at their sides and shields upon their backs. Dark eyes gleamed from under their helms, regarding her intently.

At one time, such stares would have unsettled and terrified the girl, but since then, she had heard the baying of demon hounds, seen battle and death, and ridden a Dragon. And if a pair of surly door guards wanted to compete with the hungry crimson stares of the Drow or the burning blue eyes of Shalidar, then they would be woefully disappointed.

Turning to Hildegard, the young woman gave a disgruntled sniff, "This doesn't look like no dungeon door. You said you'd take me to Maggie."

"And I shall, Cassie, I promise. But Lady Aventine, the Mistress of this House, has asked to see you, and well..."

"She's your boss."

Garrow grinned, "Aye," she turned to Hildegard and waved a hand at Cassie, "You sure about this? I mean, the wee imp is wearing half a nightdress and a threadbare woolly rag. She looks like an unkempt vagabond. Mayhap we can at least get her something to dress in that won't shame the lass."

The old black shawl shifted slightly, causing one of the guards to blink.

Hildegard sighed, "I know, but the Matriarch wants to see her. I doubt she'd take kindly to being told to wait while we hunt up a skirt and a hairbrush."

Cassie frowned, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It looks like a windswept haystack that's been hit by a bolt of lightning, Cassie."

"That's just rude."

The Half-Orc bodyguard grinned and reached down to ruffle the girl's unruly hair further, "True though. Besides, I like it," she hooked a thumb at Hildegard, "everyone around this dump goes about tarted up like they're in a damned bordello. Sets my teeth on edge. It's good to see someone a bit more natural, as it were."

Hildegard snorted, "And by natural, you mean as scruffy looking as you, I take it?"

Garrow frowned, "Who's scruffy looking?"

Shaking her head, the handmaiden gave an exasperated snort as she turned to Cassie, "Look, lass, on the other side of this door is the great hall of House Varro, where Mistress Aventine holds feasts and holds court. I know not what she has in mind for you, but she is the one who reigns here and..."

"She's the Captain's big sister, is she not?"

"Aye, and they're as alike as two peas in a pod, in temperament as much as looks, though Gods forbid don't tell her I said so, for she'd deny it to the Hells and back."

Reaching out to take the younger woman's hand, Hildegard squeezed it with a sigh, "Look, Cassie, I know you must feel angry and maybe a little betrayed by what's happened, but these are Dark Elves. They're a proud folk, a cold folk, and I think this one might be prouder and colder than most. Please, just... just don't say anything too intemperate. She's really not so bad, truly, but I doubt she'd react well to disrespect."

Garrow snorted.

"Is she the one who put my friends in the dungeon?"

"She'll have had her reasons. Look, she's... she's been fair to me, Cassie, and she didn't have to be. She could have treated me like a slave easily enough."

"The captain wouldn't have let her."

Hildegard smiled at the words, "Maybe not. Just give her a chance is all I ask, and if... well, if it all goes to pot, I swear I'll do what I can to see Maggie freed at least."

Cassie stared at the woman and tilted her head as she took in the words, "Even if it costs you all this finery?"

The woman nodded, unaware of Garrow's intent sideways glance, "Even so, I'm no fair-weather friend. I'll not turn my back on you, I promise."

Cassie squeezed her hand back, but any further words were interrupted as the two great doors slid silently open.

The great hall beyond was long, wide, and lit by flickering witchfire lamps. Carved pillars to either side towered high above the figures seated at the long tables below, reaching up to the high vaulted ceiling above, and many rich, colourful tapestries and pennants were hung upon the walls.

Tables ran down either side of the hall towards a raised dais where the high table was placed. The hall could easily have sat a hundred and more, but only a few places were set this day. Busy servants moved about quietly, and tall guards lined the walls.

Cassie could not help but feel somewhat small and lost as Hildegard ushered her into that dauntingly vast chamber, but Garrow tilted her head and flicked a glance towards her as she caught the girl chuckling softly to herself. For this was not the first time she had entered such a hall, and she doubted even a Dark Elven Matriarch could be as formidable as a disgruntled Dragon.

To the left sat a handful of Dwarves, all sturdy and formidable, with braided beards and hooded brows. They were clad in light mail with only a well-crafted seax set upon the table at their side. Behind each though stood another Dwarf, clad for war, wearing heavy scale hauberks over a thick gambeson. They had shields upon their backs waraxes in their belts, and their features were hidden by the closed helms they wore. Like formidable armoured sentinels, they stood still as stone, ominous, unmoving and silent.

To the right sat several Dark Elven maidens, slender, dusky-eyed and beautiful, dressed in dark garb, with silver hair tied back and smiling like sharks. Each wore a ladies' blade at her side, but if they had other arms and armour about their persons, they were well concealed. With their kind's cold, unblinking stares and the patience of born predators, they watched and waited.

At the centre of the high table sat a Dark Elf dressed in a fine gown of some shimmering silken material. She wore a shoulder wrap of black feathers and had a lace collar about her throat; her silver hair glimmered like moonlight upon the cold sea, and even sitting with languid inhuman grace as she was, she gave off an air of dread command. Cassie heard herself draw a breath, for the woman was all but the twin of Captain Ashunara, with the same sardonic smile playing at the corner of her lips and that same beguiling gleam in her eyes. Behind her stood a pretty human girl who favoured Cassie with a friendly smile.

To the left of her sat another Dark Elf dressed in a sombre gown. She had a watchful air about her, and Cassie doubted she missed much. At her side sat a Half-Orc, tall and broad. He had the lean, wary demeanour of a stalking panther, and his eyes were fixed upon the Dwarves.

Cassie felt her eyes drawn to the right of the table where another Dark Elf sat. She wore a cloak atop her dark stola, and her pitch-black eyes glinted like flint. At her side was set a heavy rod of metal that looked to be almost crackling with some eldritch power, and Cassie felt herself swallow nervously when her intense gaze fell upon her.

Beside her sat...

Cassie froze.

The tall blonde woman with the brilliant blue eyes gave her a broad, gleaming smile and a small bow of recognition, "Welcome, Cassie, it is agreeable to see you again. You look," she grinned, and her eyes glittered with mischief and humour, "delicious."

"Lady Shalidar."

The Matriarch turned slowly to regard the blonde woman, "You know this child?"

Shalidar's smile widened, "Oh yes, Cassie and I are old friends, though I regret it was not always so. I confess when first we met, I took some unwarranted liberties, and for that, she fetched me quite a clout for my troubles."

At her side, the Dark Elf with the rod abruptly choked and, between coughs, cast a look of incredulous amazement at the little human, "She did wha..."

Cassie blushed, "'Tis sorry I am about that, but I was fairly provoked, and you can't say otherwise. Um," she fidgeted nervously before asking in a small voice, "How's your arm?"

"Like your little friend, all healed up and no harm done," her eyes narrowed, "agreed?"

The girl nodded, "No harm done. We're square."

The Dragon burst out laughing, "Oh, Cassie, if only you knew how wrong you are! We are so far from "square" as to defy description. But still, I accept the sentiment for what it is."

Cassie licked her lips, "Shalidar, about Ellén. She's gone off, and I could not stop her! She might be in danger. Can you hel-"

"Hush, child. My daughter has her errands, as do I, but glad am I that you think of her, for she is fond of you," she smiled like a cat, "and if my nose tells me true, perhaps more than merely fond, eh?"

The girl blushed like a beetroot and could barely stammer a reply, but thankfully, she was rescued from her embarrassment when one of the Dwarves stood, "You'd be young Cassie then? Sister of Adair, is this not so?"

Looking at the Dwarf, Cassie saw he was as broad-shouldered and barrel-chested as many of his kind, with heavily muscled arms and hands like shovels. His eyes glinted under heavy brows, and his gnarled features made him look like a rugged boulder, all weather-beaten and stalwart.

She nodded, "Um, yes, Sir, that's me."

The creature grunted, "Then you would have the knowing of my kin, lass."

"I would?"

"Aye, Journeyman Draxigarn, he's my cousin through the clan of my wife's sister. I heard him mention you. Says he met you upon the road, made a jest at your expense and when caught out, put gold in your hand to make amends."

Up at the High Table, Matron Livia leaned close to her Matriarch and whispered, "Dwarves... They never forget."

Aventine snorted, "Not if gold was involved."

With a smile, Cassie recalled the memory, "That's right! He said I should put it towards buying my freedom! He was nice even after I, um..." she swallowed, "might have said he was so fat it looked like he'd swallowed a keg of rum."

The Dwarf gave a deep guffaw and jutted his braided beard out at her, "Aye! He said! Right surprised he was that your sister spoke the Old Tongue, and many a laugh we have had at his expense at being so caught out. But tell me, lass, I see no collar around your pretty throat. I did not realise he had given so much?"

"Well, no, I mean, he was really generous and gave me more coin than I'd ever seen, but no. I, ah, came into some... um, treasure not so long after and well, you know..."

A younger Dwarf sitting to one side muttered, "Mayhap she sold her virginity to make up the rest? Is that not a thing human folk do?"

Cassie sputtered, "I did no such thing! You foul-mouthed little..."

"So, you speak our language too, then? Did your sister teach you?"

"I do not!"

The older Dwarf frowned, "You just did."

"What?"

Shalidar looked up, "Well, I speak your tongue, Master Dwarf, and better than you, I might add. I take it ill you insult her so. You would do well to recall your words afore something... unfortunate happens to you."

The younger Dwarf bristled, "What is she to you?"

"She is under my protection. Pray you never learn what that means, young Dwarfling."

Cassie stared at the Dragon, "What?..."

There was a sound as Matriarch Aventine quietly cleared her throat and directing her cold gaze at the older Dwarf, she spoke in a soft voice, "It bodes ill that those who sit under my roof, accept my hospitality and sup at my table think it fair to then offer an unwarranted insult to one of my guests, and a child to boot. Is this the sum of Dwarven courtesy? Dwarven chivalry? If so, I hold myself unimpressed."

The old Dwarf visibly flushed at the barb; his beard quivered, and the sound of his grinding teeth was all but audible across the hall. Drawing a breath, he gave the Dark Elf a deep bow, "Your apologies, Matriarch Aventine, my lad... my son, speaks without thinking, as is his wont. I blame his upbringing. Forever did I teach him to be distrustful of Humans, and..." he cast his eyes about the hall, "well, you know. I pray you give me but a moment to rectify his poor manners."

Aventine smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "Be my guest."

The backhand blow catapulted the younger Dwarf from his chair and sent him clattering to the floor in a spatter of blood, "You thick-skulled eejit! You shame me and thus your Clan! And before these Dark Elves to boot!"

From the floor, the stricken Dwarf wiped blood from his lips, "I beg forgiveness, father, 'twas a jest, I did not think they'd hear!"

"They're Dark Elves! The knife-eared bastards can just about hear you think you fucking idio-" With a groan, he paused and turned to the Matriarch, "Um, meaning no offence like."

"Oh, none taken, I assure you. Please, by all means, do continue."

Turning back to his son, the Dwarf snarled, "Make this right, boy, now!"

"Father?"

"Balance the scales, or I swear we are kin no longer!"

Staggering to his feet, the Dwarf limped from his place and, moving around the table, he dropped to his knees before the startled girl, head bowed and with axe held out to her. Unthinking, she took it and all but staggered when its weight almost dragged it from her grasp, and the razor-sharp blade cut into the floor with a piercing metallic "clang".

Looking about, she turned her eyes to Shalidar in confusion, "What? Um, am I meant to hit him with it or something? Because I can barely lift it."

Aventine gave her a vulpine smile, "No, young Cassie, he has given you his axe. He is yours til you deign to give it back."

"But... What am I meant to do with a Dwarf?"

Fiamma Var choked again as she heard Shalidar mutter, "Well, they make for a marvellous entrée."

The Magister hid her whisper behind a snort, "Will you stop doing that."

The Dragon smirked, a thing they do particularly well, and smiled innocently, "Doing what?"

Cassie, however, stared at the bowed figure before her and the heavy axe in her and, "Um, look, maybe I can just give it b-"

Aventine interrupted, "If you return his glaive without giving him a chance to earn it properly, you deny him any opportunity to rebalance the scales and regain his honour. It would shame him before blood and clan. No small thing, Cassie."

The older Dwarf turned his glare at the Dark Elf, "And what would you know of Dwarven honour, She-Elf?"

Aventine smiled, "Of honour? Perhaps not so much," her eyes narrowed, "but we calculate debt very well, Master Dwarf."

...

Muriah stirred at the sound of footsteps approaching. She was lying on her front on a soft bedroll and hissed in pain when curiosity made her turn. Elsadore gave her a broad grin as she dropped down beside her, "Careful there now, lass, you're doubtless still a wee bit tender, I should think. Here, try a swig of this. It'll help... probably."

The older Dark Elf passed her a flask, and Muriah sniffed at it suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Orcish brew of some kind, got a kick like a mule. I think I'm starting to like it."

Muriah sipped at it and immediately started wheezing, "Dear Gods! That could strip paint! How much of this crap have you drunk?"

Elsadore shook the container and considered, "About half a flask, I should think."

"You'll go blind drinking this."

"Maybe so here. Have another swig."

Taking another sip, the younger Dark Elf hissed through her teeth and thumped her fist against the bedroll, "Fuuuck! 'Tis a wicked brew! Are they trying to poison you mayhap?"

The veteran shrugged, "Doubt it. The Orc gave it to me for you after all."

"What?"

"Aye, muttered something about it being a warrior's drink or somesuch. I think he just wanted to help you with the pain, but you know what they're like."

Muriah stared at the flask, "W-why would they do that?"

"Oh, that's easy enough. You were kidnapped, tortured and then, when you got free, you refused to let someone fight for you and instead killed the fucker that did it yourself, blade to blade. Orcs like that kind of shit."

"That's not what happ-"

"Pretty sure it was. That's what I saw anyway. And from what I hear, 'tis what the Captain said happened, so if you want to go argue with her then be my guest. Anyway, get your kit off."

Muriah was in the process of tentatively trying another measure of the fiery spirit, and the swordswoman's leer set her to choking. She coughed, hissed in pain and sprayed a mouthful of alcohol about her, "Argh... Fuck, shit, what the..."

Elsadore almost keeled over, guffawing as the younger woman wiped drool and snot from her chin, "Oh, lass, you should see your face!"

"But..."

"Och girl, look, I won't say that your arse is not as pretty a one as I've seen in quite a while, and a lech like me has to take her debauchery as and when she can, but alas, I have a more serious purpose this day."

"Purpose?"

The old soldier produced a steaming pot from behind her, "Oil and honey. I need to rub it into the weals on your back."

"Why?"

"Well, now, the thing is, the healing salve that Lashelle dosed you with will heal your hurts and take care of any scarring, but that'll take a little time, probably just a few days. But in the meantime, those scars on your back will tighten up and make it harder to move about, and wearing your mail will be a significant discomfort. And, unless I'm sore mistaken, there's a battle in the offing, and you'll be glad of that armour. Anyway, this is an old soldier's remedy. It'll keep the scarring supple and make it easier to move. So come on, off with that shirt. I promise I'll no peek."

"Seriously?"

"Fuck no."

With a groan, the younger woman raised her arms and allowed the veteran to gently pull the borrowed nightshirt up and over her shoulders. Slumping back, she lay facedown on the bedroll, luxuriating as the cooling breeze relieved her scalded back, "Ohh, that feels good."

Elsadore grinned as she eyed the naked woman and pursed her lips at the myriad weals and stripes that crisscrossed her figure all the way from her shoulders down to well past her buttocks. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Aye, 'tis a fine pattern you have there. Beats any of mine, hands down."

"You were flogged?"

There was a snort, "I'm a drunken intemperate bitch with a habit of punching people I argue with and stabbing folks I actively dislike. What do you think?"

Muriah hissed as she felt the warm concoction being poured on her back and groaned as strong, but surprisingly gentle, fingers began to knead her shoulders, working out and easing the knots and tightness she didn't know she felt, "Oh Gods..."

"Aye, the shoulders and arms tighten up something awful when you're hung for a good whipping lass. That, and all the writhing, twists the muscles. This'll help."

"The Captain whipped you?"

"No, not her. She favours different punishments, like setting a wench to extra watches, or digging latrines and the like."

Muriah chuckled, "Or to running back and fore in armour?"

"Good training, that is, for a recruit anyway, builds stamina. But she's young, and I've served other Captains in my time. Tell me if I'm hurting you, lass."

Muriah sighed as the oils were carefully worked into her skin, easing the hurts and reducing the hot pain to little more than a warm ache, "No, you're not hurting me."

More oils were poured on her buttocks, and she groaned as the skilful massage resumed, "Sorry I am if this is embarrassing for ye, but needs must."

Muriah buried her face in her bedroll to hide her grin as she luxuriated in the blissful feelings, "T-that's alright... I-I think I can bear it."